


Safe House

by Rehfan



Series: Safe House [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - Ian Fleming, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal, Anal Sex, Beating, Blood, Bruises, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Love/Hate, M/M, Male Homosexuality, dead children, preserved bodies, scientific experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 32,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has been attacked by an unknown assailant.<br/>Instead of being assigned to the seek and destroy end of things, Bond has begrudgingly been assigned as Q's babysitter.<br/>Q's not too fond of the idea either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Q sighed as he typed in the last of the code. Programming was effortless to him and the information flew from his fingertips. This wasn't his favorite part of the job, necessary as it was. He preferred logistics; coding on the fly as agents vied for information on the ground and miles away. It made him feel important to be a guiding force in a strike mission. It was true that he could topple a country's economy with a few keystrokes, but there was no real thrill there; it was all just vague shadows in an unlit room.

It wasn't that Q had any aspirations of being the field agent. The thought of handling a weapon for non-testing purposes ran his blood cold. It also wasn't that he hadn't the skill; every agent in MI6 had to pass a weapons proficiency test. It was more that he didn't feel it was something that suited his abilities best. An underutilized Q was an unhappy Q.

As he made the very last entry, he saved and closed out the program, and shut down the workstation. He grimaced when he glanced at his watch: half past twelve at night. Time to go home.

His stomach voiced a protest because of too much tea and not enough sustenance, but he patently ignored it in favor of his body's requirement to sleep. The cab dropped him at the usual corner and he paid the fare. He always opted to walk the six additional streets to his flat; it provided him with much needed exercise as well as a bit of fresh air.

Three streets down he noticed the street lamp was out. There was glass in the street from it glinting in what little light there was and Q slowed his walking pace warily. The light had been smashed out -- perhaps on purpose. There was a close just beneath it to the right, the perfect spot for a mugger to lurk. Q's instincts were on high alert as he heard a slight shuffle of feet as he passed the darkened archway.

By the time his attacker landed the first blow, it was clear that simple robbery was not on the attacker's mind.

Q reacted as quickly as his reflexes allowed. He bent over just in time for the punch aimed at his stomach to be somewhat lessened in force. But it didn't leave Q completely unharmed. Breath blew out of his body when fist met flesh and for a moment Q thought his legs would give out.

Instinctively, he grabbed his attacker's arm and held it tightly. The man wrapped his other arm around Q and attempted to place his feet around his ankles in order to topple the quartermaster, no doubt planning on overpowering Q once he was on the ground. Q reached up and snaked his arm around the back of the man's head, trapping the nape of his attacker's neck in his armpit by way of a backward headlock. Q twisted his body and brought up his knee over and over and over pouring his panic and frustration into every blow to the man's abdomen. He may be a boffin, but he was still an agent of MI6 and he wasn't going down without a fight. The satisfying sound of his assailant grunting with each calculated blow was a balm to Q's heretofore jangled nerves. 

The man attempted to free his head desperately, but Q had already grabbed the cinching arm with his free hand so that with every struggle, Q was able to squeeze tighter and rain down a few more blows to his gut. The more he struggled to get out, the more resolute Q became that he would not escape.

His assailant began to pitch his weight about, causing Q to have to fight for balance enough to keep the blows to his abdomen coming. Finally with one tremendous shove, the attacker toppled Q and both men hit the ground hard, Q releasing his hold as a natural consequence. Q recovered first and rose unsteadily to his feet. He was exhausted, but his exhaustion only multiplied when the predator came back to his feet brandishing a broken bottle scooped up from the gutter.

This was certainly a vexing development.


	2. Chapter 2

"Really?" asked Q. Predictably his assailant didn't respond. The hand that held the broken glass came out toward him quickly, a stabbing motion that had Q leaping backward to avoid. Q considered making a run for it, but his attacker had a good four inches in height on him as well as longer legs; there was a good chance he could out run Q. The man also easily out-weighed him by three stone and Q knew if he got the upper hand, he was as good as dead. 

But all the blows Q had landed to his abdomen had taken a lot of the steam out of his would-be assassin. The stranger's breath came in gasps and pants and he was still partially doubled over. Q thought fast. He recalled his training in judo self-defense: use your opponent's weight against them.

As another swiping stab was made at Q's torso, Q reached out and grabbed the armed wrist. He side-stepped and pushed with all his might, throwing the man in the direction of his forward motion. The assailant instantly sprawled on the road face downward, his makeshift weapon skittering away along the asphalt. Q seized his opportunity. He landed a few swift sharp kicks to his torso, not letting up until he was certain that there was little chance of a quick recovery.

As soon as the man lay motionless and groaning, Q promptly turned on his heel and ran for home.

He locked and bolted the door. He did a cursory visual sweep of his living quarters and retired to the cupboard-sized panic room MI6 had installed for just such emergencies. After all, the whole department would be at a loss if something happened to the leader of Q-Branch.

He was on a secure phone to HQ within seconds. He relayed what he could about the attack and what meager impressions he had gotten of the man's physical appearance. Regrettably, the entire scuffle was brief -- even though it felt like ages -- and in the dark so Q didn't have much opportunity to memorize any significant features. As he hung up the phone and waited for a recovery and sweep team, he chastised himself. He should have been more aware. His instincts about the danger were correct, but he didn't follow through with his heightened awareness. Admittedly, his training had stopped with the basics and he only takes his weapons proficiency when forced to, so his skills in the field were woefully inadequate. But tonight's narrow escape let him know just how inadequate they had become.

For a fleeting moment he gave thought to going back and doing a refresher course in self-defense, but he shook off that idea. Q becoming more proficient by taking actual classes in self defense or taking on a few more hours in the shooting range were as sincere as all those people who promise to join a gym and lose weight after the holidays. It wasn't going to happen. Q was who he was and there was no life-threatening incident that would make him change his nature. He would fight back should the situation call for it, but he wasn't going to go out of his way to learn any more than he knew. Mostly because it was distasteful to him.

There was a knock at the door and Q checked the monitor. He saw a few agents he recognized standing outside. He let them in and they swept his apartments. 

One agent turned to him and said, "So where is he?"

"What do you mean?" asked Q. "He's not here, he's three streets over. I left him in the street. He jumped me when I got home."

The other agent made a call and turned back to Q. "There's no one there. We'll canvass the neighborhood, sir, but I'm afraid your attacker has flown the coop."


	3. Chapter 3

"No," said Q. "Just... no. It was an isolated incident, I'm sure. Nothing to be that concerned about."

"And I disagree," said M. He had his arms crossed and watched Q as he flitted about Q-Branch checking on the state of this program and the results from that weapons test. "I want you watched."

"I don't need a babysitter," said Q. What he did need was a good night's sleep. He tossed and turned all night long, his mind half-expecting his attacker to break in and try to kill him.

"No," said M. "I didn't say "babysitter". I said "watcher". The agent would be there to keep an eye on you. You would appear as if you were alone when in point of fact, you would actually be within eye-shot and ear-shot of a trained spy."

"Why in hell...," said Q. He calmed himself with a breath. The more M pushed him toward this idea, the more he resented it. "Why in the world... would you think me so important? Isn't this a waste of MI6 resources?"

"Because of Harbinger," said M. Q looked directly at him for the first time since he mentioned getting him a shadow. M shrugged and added: "It's too important to allow you to just wander about."

"You don't think..." said Q. There were a million questions buzzing around his head at the mention of the experimental monitoring system. He came close to M and spoke in a low tone. "You think I'm a target?"

"I don't see how you couldn't be one," said M. 

"But it's absurd," said Q. "I'm one of eight different programmers, all of us scattered about--"

"It doesn't matter, Q," said M. "Harbinger is your baby, your concept. They'll come after you, torture you for any information, threaten those that you love, and then kill you. I can't just let that happen."

Q hung his head in defeat. It was too much. M was right; he needed protection. And if he had to have a watcher, he would prefer that they watch from a distance. At least he would get to live in his own flat and live a somewhat normal life. And once Harbinger was complete, he could relax a bit more. They were mere months from completion on the project itself, but that didn't count the time they had to take to test it. It might be up to six months before Q could stand back and say he was satisfied.

Q sighed and looked at M. "Whom can I expect to follow me home tonight?"

"Bond," said M.


	4. Chapter 4

"Bond?" said Q. "He can't do it. He's in Indonesia."

"Not anymore," said Bond, striding into Q Branch. Instinctively Q sucked in a breath. He was as crisp and clean as always. Q never failed to be impressed by him. He could be waist-deep in the Amazon in the morning fighting off anaconda and drug smugglers and still make it in time for dinner at Buckingham palace in a flawless tuxedo and spotless grin. "Bloody hell, M..." began Bond, the storm clouds beginning behind his eyes. He was not happy to be called in.

"Right," said M, recognizing the need for more privacy for the three of them. Bond strode in looking like thunder; Q was getting hot under the collar as well. This conversation was going to turn into an argument right in the middle of the research floor if he didn't move it to a different venue, and soon. "You two. My office. Now." Bond and Q exchanged an annoyed glance and followed M up to his office.

The leather-bound bulletproof door was closed behind them and M began: "Q you realize the importance of the knowledge in your head. Bond, you don't yet realize how important Q's Harbinger project is," M went to his desk, unlocked a cabinet drawer and slid a file toward Bond. "But you soon will." Bond gave Q a curious glance as Q bit his thumb in thought. The agent gave the file a look and after a moment he found M's eyes and nodded shortly. "Very well," said M. "Now that we're all on the same page, let's work together nicely, shall we?"

"I still resent being Q's babysitter," said Bond.

"It's not--" began M.

Q spoke over M's protestation: "See! I told you it was babysitting!" He turned to Bond: "I don't want you there either, 007."

Bond raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, Q," he said sarcastically.

"Now that's enough!" said M. "Bond, you are going to do as you are assigned. Q, you are going to move up your dates on Harbinger. If someone is after it, I want it to be completed and in our hands as quickly as possible."

"Do I not get a say in any of this?" asked Q.

"No," said M.

Bond and Q exchanged a look that equated to a shrug of resignation. They left M's office and headed back to Q Branch.

As the lift brought them back down, Bond asked, "When do you get off work, Q?"

"Of course you want to get started tonight," grumbled Q. He crossed his arms and leaned heavily on the wall of the lift.

"Not really," said Bond, smirking at the quartermaster's strop. "I just thought we could both use a damn drink."


	5. Chapter 5

At the end of his evening, Q was not ready for a drink. He just wanted his bed. The lack of sleep he had experienced last night was catching up with him fast and by eight o'clock he felt his eyes grow heavy with sleep. Even with him leaving the office earlier than his normal time - which was late enough - he was still the last person to leave Q Branch. He closed everything down as per usual and caught his usual cab home.

By nature, Q wasn't a particularly brave individual. But he had a lot of pride and a keen mind. He approached the darkened spot in his route with care. He considered crossing the street and walking along the other side, but his ego would have none of it. The instinctive primal part of his brain told him to pick up his pace, but again his pride had other ideas; he kept his pace steady. Even his brain seemed to give in to his ego as it rationalized his situation: it was foolish to believe that another attack would happen on the very next night; the law of averages was against it.

So he plodded on, the inky black void growing nearer and nearer. His eyes searched the darkness and found nothing upon his approach and as he passed there was still nothing.

"Testing yourself, Q?" asked Bond.

Q jumped a mile high, crying out and spinning around. He turned red once he saw it was only the agent assigned to protect him. "God damn it, Bond!" Q exclaimed. Bond chuckled. Q's eyes narrowed as he said, "You bloody enjoyed that just now, didn't you?"

"A bit," Bond admitted as he stepped into what little light the rest of the street provided.

Q turned away from him and stalked off in the direction of his flat. Hearing Bond follow him, he suddenly stopped and turned to him. "Look, I know you don't want to be here. Personally, I think your presence here is a waste of time and resources. It's ridiculous for you to escort me from my house to work and back again. I don't need a babysitter. I do not need watching. I -"

"M asked me to drive you home," said Bond.

"What?" asked Q.

"He wanted me to drive you home," said Bond. "Tonight and every night."

"Stupid man," said Q. "That's way beneath your pay grade. It's sheer idiocy is what it is. If he's insistent, he can find a lower-ranked agent to do that. After all... you're a double-o! You have a license to kill. You shouldn't be carting around a boffin like a damn nanny."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Q," said Bond. "That's why I thought ignoring his orders about that would be alright for now. If any danger presents, we can deal with it then. Until then, I will be walking you to your cab and back every morning and night. No point in being too overzealous too fast. Wouldn't you agree?"

Q took a breath and visibly relaxed. Yes, this was good. Bond wasn't going to be too heavy-handed and Q could be left alone to do as he wished. "I do agree. Thank you, Bond."

James grinned at him and Q felt a shiver of heat run through his body. "Then let's walk you home, shall we?" He gestured a hand toward their direction of travel and the two walked shoulder to shoulder down the late night street, Q and Bond stealing glances at each other the whole way.


	6. Chapter 6

"You don't need to do that, Bond," said Q annoyed as he watched the agent do a visual sweep of his rooms. "As a matter of fact, you didn't have to come in. I'm perfectly fine now. Please..."

"All part of the five-star service, Q," said Bond looking at the underside of a table lamp. "Wouldn't want to have anything to worry M, would we?"

Q filled the kettle and felt frustrated. He was exhausted. He wanted Bond out so that he could go to sleep and yet here he was, making tea as if James were an expected guest. It was ridiculous. He set the kettle on the hob and turned on the flame. "Right," said Q "I'll give you five minutes and a cup of tea and then you're out. Got it?"

Bond hummed his assent to the arrangement as he poured over the bookshelves. Q watched him carefully from the kitchen doorway. He was wearing the typical suit - a light grey that set off his eyes something fierce - and no tie. The collar was unbuttoned and as Bond stood there, he placed his hands on his hips in concentration, pulling his jacket back and stretching his white shirt over his chest in a rather distracting manner. Q was lost in the thoughts of what that material would feel like, of what it would be like to see those buttons come undone one after the other, of what Bond's skin would look like, feel like, taste like...

"Q?" asked Bond, startling him and cruelly pulling him away from the fantasy.

Q cleared his throat. "Y-yes, 007?"

"Kettle's gone," said Bond. A shrill whistle was building behind him and, praising whatever gods there may be for such a mercy, he turned to tend to it. That was embarrassing. He hoped that Bond never suspected that Q allowed such errant thoughts to enter his brain. And if Bond did suspect, he prayed the man would have the tact and decency not to point it out. But why would he? After all, he was a professional. And more than that, he didn't want to do this job in the first place. Why would he complicate matters by embarrassing him? It would serve no earthly purpose.

The only thing Bond had said was: "Sweep's done," yet Q managed to flinch because somehow the agent had stolen up behind him and when he spoke he stood so close Q felt the man's breath on his ear.

"You really do enjoy that bit, don't you?" asked Q, turning slowly and trying not to let his breath hitch as he saw for himself just how closely the agent was standing. "You are acting like a child, 007, and I don't appreciate it."

Bond chuckled. "I know, but it's the only thing about this job that keeps me going."

"Scaring me half out of my wits by hiding in a darkened alley as well as sneaking up behind me in my own home is somehow amusing to you? When you know I was violently attacked just last night?" asked Q. "That's the height of hilarity to you, is it?"

Bond had the decency to look abashed at that. He bowed his head and apologized to Q saying, "I'm sorry,Q. You're right. I shouldn't tease. But you said yourself you were fit enough to take care of yourself. Judging from the way you're reacting, I would say that that's all a line of crap. You're not alright, are you?"

James' blue eyes were searching for the truth in Q's next words and he didn't disappoint. He took a deep breath and said, "I suppose I'm not alright, Bond. It's just... I hate this helpless feeling. I don't like not being able to care for myself. It's silly to have you escort me to and fro as if I were a child. All I want is to get my power back. To get my piece of mind back. I just want to be able to relax in my own home again."

Bond nodded. "Understandable," he said. Q turned from him and set out a beaker with a tea bag for Bond. He just finished pouring the water in the cup when he felt strong warm hands massage his shoulders.

Q brought his head up. "What are you doing?" he asked, frozen to the spot, one hand on the counter top, the other on the handle of the kettle. His throat was dry and he swallowed hard as he felt James' hands kneading his taut flesh.

"Helping you relax," said Bond.


	7. Chapter 7

Q twisted out of Bond's grasp. He had had enough. "Please leave," he said. There was a tug of war going on between Q's head and his hormones, but the war could rage tomorrow once Q had gotten enough sleep. He was frustrated, exhausted, and cross. A small niggling part of him was whimpering at his words, but Q mentally pushed it away. "Right now, 007."

Bond blinked at Q in confusion for a moment. "But I thought...," he said. He left the rest unspoken. To Q's great embarrassment, he realized that Bond had noticed the furtive glances during the walk home. He had also been aware of Q's gaze as he searched his flat for disturbances.

"Yes... well, I'm afraid you've got it wrong," Q said with a shrug. His hormones' whimper turned to a pitiful moan at that. Q shoved them away even harder. This was not going to happen, not tonight, and not with an MI6 agent for any number of purely logical reasons - not the least of which was getting involved with a co-worker - always a bad move.

"I see," said Bond slowly. "My apologies, Q."

"Not at all," said Q brusquely. "Now if that will be all, 007, I'd really like to get some sleep."

"Here," said Bond. He handed out a card to Q. "My number. Should you need to reach me at any time."

Q took it and asked, "Secure phone?"

Bond shot a grin at him. "Of course."

"Very well," said Q. "Thank you, 007."

"Not a problem," said Bond. "Only... let me ask you something."

Q sighed and did his best to not roll his eyes. "Yes?"

"Why don't you ever call me by my proper name?" he asked.

"Because it would be--" began Q.

"Unprofessional," finished Bond. Q nodded. "As I thought...," said Bond. "Well, goodnight, Q. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, 007," said Q.

Q didn't exhale until he saw him through his bedroom window walking away and becoming part of the shadows.

Q sat on the edge of his bed and mentally kicked himself. All it would have been was a well-deserved fuck. What was he so scared of?

But it wasn't fear of sex that stopped him. It was a fear of impropriety. He was the youngest quartermaster in MI6 history. There was a certain level of expectation that came along with that. He couldn't risk his reputation or the reputation of Q Branch by having sex with one of the agents - no matter how utterly, unbelievably attractive they were.

Q sighed and went through his nightly rituals before retiring to bed. Clothes stripped, teeth cleaned, he lay in the dark waiting for sleep to take him.

As he finally drifted off, he curled into his pillow and whispered: "I'm so sorry, James."


	8. Chapter 8

Q awoke to sunlight hitting his face. He glanced at his clock and sprang out of bed. For the first time ever, he was late for work. As panic seized him, he stood in the middle of his bedroom and looked around undecided as to his next plan of action. Should he ring M to explain? Or should he just jump into the shower and risk it? He took a breath and rang up M.

M was surprised more than anything and grateful for his call. He granted Q a little leniency. "After all," he had said, "you've had to deal with Bond." Q hung up with M and sat on his bed.

Oh God - Bond. He would be waiting for Q.

Kicking himself and mentally preparing himself for the ribbing he'll get from the agent, he jumped into the shower, scrubbing up and drying off in record time. Normally, he would enjoy a slice of toast and tea along with his emails, bu there was no time. He hurriedly dressed and as he passed through his sitting room he jumped away a the strange figure sitting on his sofa.

Bond held out a hand. "Easy, Q," he said, getting up and going to him. His voice was soothing, his manner apologetic; he obviously did not wish to startle Q. "Sorry, mate," he said.

Q shut his eyes tightly and balled his hands into fists. He was shaking. He hated that he was shaking. It was one more thing that made him feel out of control. Suddenly there were warm arms around him and soft breath in his hair. A hand cupped his head at the back and Bond spoke in soft tones: "Hush. It's alright, Q. I've got you."

Reflexively, Q brought his hands up and wrapped his arms around Bond's strong chest. Bond smelled faintly of aftershave and coffee. Q didn't comment. He was tired of fighting: fighting his fears, fighting for power, fighting his heart. He let go and for the first time in a long time allowed himself to be held. He wanted to thank Bond for this. He wanted to say, "Thank you, James." and not because of some ultra-British sense of politeness, but because he truly meant it. But the words wouldn't come. His pride wouldn't have it.

Last night, Bond treated him as if he were a mark that he needed to seduce in order to get information. This morning, Bond was consoling him in a compassionate and merciful manner, much like a friend - no - a lover would do to a loved one. It was wonderful. Q listened to Bond's steady breath and realized that if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the man's heartbeat as well. He let it all flow over him. It was utter bliss. He could feel himself relax with every breath. He was getting so relaxed, in fact, he was starting to drift off to sleep standing up in Bond's arms.

The sheer embarrassment of falling asleep at so inappropriate a time and place caused Q to rouse himself. He pulled away to look at Bond and had to swallow past a gasp of desire that took him by surprise. "I'm sorry, 007," Q said. He cleared his throat and backed out of Bond's arms, fighting the urge to stay there and bury his nose in the man's neck.

"Think nothing of it, Q," said Bond. He held him at arm's length "Are you sure you're fit for work today?" Bond gave him an evaluating stare. "If I were you, I'd call in."

"I can't," said Q. "I've got to tend to Harbinger."


	9. Chapter 9

M was waiting in Q Branch when Q walked in. He must have looked a sight because M's first words were: "Jesus, Q. Are you alright, man?"

"Perfectly fine, M," said Q. "The Harbinger project is coming together at double speed, if that's what you're here to check on. Agents Singh and Varguese should have their contributions to me today.'

"That's why I'm here, Q," said M. He stared hard at Q. "Have a seat." Q did as he was bid. M pulled over a chair from another work station and sat with a sigh.

"What is it?" asked Q, his nerves on edge again. He thought of Bond's embrace and relaxed a fraction.

"Agents Singh and Varguese have disappeared," said M.

"Sorry?" said Q.

"There's been no trace of either of them for seven hours," said M. Q immediately turned to his computer and signed on as M continued: "When you didn't show this morning, naturally I feared the worst."

Q glanced at M. "Apologies, M," he said, typing furiously. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Which is why I'm keeping you here until further notice," replied M. Q froze in place. "I'm sorry, Q. I know it's a blow to your independence, but until we find Singh and Varguese--"

"If you find them," Q muttered as he stared back at the flickering screen.

"When we find them," corrected M, "we can't risk losing you too."

Q hit a final key and shook his head. "I see Singh's work here, but Varguese's is not present." Q bit his lip and eyed M. "Where am I to stay?"

"Third sub-level," said M.

"No windows, no fresh air. Fantastic," said Q.

"No chance we will be infiltrated," countered M.

"Right," said Q. "Well, at least this will free up 007 for a real assignment."

"No, Q," said M. "Bond is to remain your constant companion in this."

"But, M...," said Q. M held up a hand.

"007 is one of our best agents," said M. "He will be the only one you deal with when you're not in Q Branch. And even when you are, he will be here to watch over you." As he spoke, his eyes drifted up over Q's head. Q caught his line of sight and looked behind him.

Bond stood there as patient as ever. Q thought he detected a faint clenching of his jaw as he watched him. He chalked it up to irritation that his babysitting was to continue. Q shot him an apologetic look and Bond answered with a subtle wink.

"Well then," said Q, turning to Singh's work on his monitor. "If that's been decided, there's nothing I can say. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I've got code to write."

M nodded, satisfied; he got up and left. Bond took a seat in the corner where he could see the entire room including all entrances and exits as well as Q. Q thought he was well-suited as a sentinel. He only hoped he wouldn't become too much of a distraction for him. After all, Bond did look absolutely gorgeous.


	10. Chapter 10

Soon enough, Q fell into his coding trance. That was what he called it when the code became the only thing in the room. Numbers, letters, and symbols flew past his eyes as his nimble fingers glided effortlessly over the keyboard. There was no sense of the outside world for him here. Coding trance took everything away - including hunger and thirst.

He smelled it before he saw it. Toast and jam and strong, hot Earl Grey tea was there at his elbow as if conjured. He paused long enough to glance at Bond who sat placidly smiling. Q nodded his thanks and sipped his tea.

As his fingers resumed their former occupation, Q spared time for an quick thought: Bond actually waited on him.

Q was of two minds on the subject. On one hand, he detested it. He was far too independent to be waited on. His parents could never understand their child's almost pathological need to dress himself in clothes he chose for himself. Mummy and Daddy always relied on the input of their maid or manservant for that. Fortunately, the head butler understood and offered advice on the garments Q chose only after the garments were chosen. As a youth and into his young adulthood, Q could live with that way of going about things. If he had to have a servant, he would have them as a resource for his active mind, not just subject himself mindlessly to the way things are always done. He rankled at a life filled with a stagnant imagination and a mildewed sense of self.

On the other hand, his ego was doing backflips. Here was an agent with a license to kill handing him toast and jam as if he was in service to Q instead of to Her Majesty. It was a bit surreal. And in some ways, a bit sad. Q paused in his typing and glanced at Bond who looked as though he were in a trance of his own. He held a thousand-yard stare, hands on his knees, breath steady. He had the air of a liveryman, but Q hated to think of him that way. As much as his ego got a jolt by Bond being his valet of sorts, at the same time he wanted to comfort Bond the same way Bond had comforted him only this morning. Bond didn't deserve this lowly assignment.

He ate some toast and chewed thoughtfully. Bond payed him no attention, so he took the opportunity to look him over, to really study him.

His face was weathered and careworn, but his crystalline eyes made him seem years younger. He was clean-shaven most of the time, but Q could recall times in the past when he was fresh from the field and a light yellow-grey stubble graced his features. Q liked him best like that.

Bond shifted slightly in his seat and took a deep breath. Q took in the expanse of his chest. He remembered the smell of aftershave and coffee and the warm firmness in the way that Bond had held him. It occurred to Q that he was touch-starved. In one moment, his entire body began to ache at the thought of Bond holding him again. In the next moment, he was repulsed by the thought. It was not like him to be so weak as far as physical needs were concerned. It was almost unseemly for him to give in to such need. If Q had his way, Bond would never be made aware of that embarrassing fact.

Bond cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at Q. Q caught his eye and blushed deeply. Bugger, he thought.


	11. Chapter 11

To his credit, Bond never flinched. Q swallowed his toast and coughed. He chased it with some tea and recovered. He went back to typing his code with renewed concentration in order to avoid meeting Bond's eyes.

Q was certain Bond was aware of him staring. The raised eyebrow he had shot at Q was a dead giveaway. He paused in his data entry to allow himself a calming breath. As soon as he felt a bit more at peace, the coding trance took over, his fingers flew and once again he saw nothing but code.

Sometime later there was a hand on his shoulder. He registered the touch and jumped. "God, I keep doing that to you, don't I?" said Bond. "Sorry, Q. But in my defense, I had been calling your name."

Q took a breath and slowly removed his hands from the keyboard. "What is it, 007?" he asked, trying hard to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"Time to go home, Q," explained Bond.

"It is?" asked Q, looking up at him.

"Yes," said Bond. "High time you were in bed and asleep." Q gave him a quizzical look. "It's nearly midnight. You've done enough."

Q glanced at his watch. "Oh," he replied, a bit dazed.

"Come on," said Bond. He let Q save his work and close down his station. The walked to the lift in silence and only after Bond had pressed the button for sub-level three did he notice how run-down the agent looked.

"You alright?" Q asked.

Bond sighed wearily. "I never knew how exhausting almost complete inactivity could be."

"I am sorry for that, Bond," said Q. He caught himself. "I mean, 007."

Bond shot a cockeyed grin at him. "You must be knackered. You're slipping, Q."

"Yes... well...," said Q, "I believe a small allowance for fatigue is in order here, 007." Bond nodded sagely, a suppressed smile trying desperately to bloom on his face at Q's farcical attitude. "Don't," warned Q, seeing the mockery build in Bond's expression. Bond couldn't help himself. The smile appeared and he laughed heartily.

Q gave him a scornful look and Bond said through his laughter: "S-sorry, Q. I- I think... we need to make a small allowance for fatigue... don't you agree?"

Q caved in. He couldn't watch Bond laugh any longer without getting giddy himself. "Berk," he said and smiled in spite of himself.

The doors of the lift had been open for some time and Bond's laughter and their voices echoed in the gloom of sub-level three. This was where they kept their most dangerous captives, or their most precious cargo. Q was to stay down here for God only knew how long. He had only ever been down to this level once - after Silva's escape. There was no real reason (other than a massive breach of security) for him to be down here.

They walked the corridor shoulder to shoulder. Idly Q wondered if he would get a real bed to sleep in or if he would have to make do with a bench. He shivered as they passed Silva's old cell; the glass case re-set with new codes and locks, the room dark.

Q saw Bond in his peripheral vision. He was watching Q carefully. The agent's hand clenched and unclenched when he saw Q shiver, as if he were hesitant as to how to proceed. Q smiled quietly at Bond and grasped his hand, giving it a quick squeeze of reassurance before letting it go.


	12. Chapter 12

Q felt badly for Bond. His pent-up level of energy that he usually spent on dangerous missions was seeking an outlet and all he was given was the care of one nervous boffin. Because he was so used to a high level of adrenalin, he became hyper-aware of everything Q was feeling. Q had hoped the small squeeze he gave to Bond's hand was enough to communicate his regret and sympathy. For his part, Bond gave him a grateful grin. It seemed that all was well between them.

The corridor made gradual turns and they went through three security doors before making a hard right and stopping before a thick metal door. Bond punched in a code on the keypad and the door hissed open. Hermetically sealed. Interesting, thought Q.

Bond closed the door behind them and they waited for the pressure to build in the other room and for the red light indicator to turn green. As soon as it did, the door in front of them clicked open and they entered the room.

This was a supply room containing all manner of high explosive and Q eyed Bond warily. He didn't voice the question, but Bond answered it anyway: "Don't worry, Q. You'll be far enough down the corridor to be safe."

Opposite the door they entered was a similar double-door arrangement. Once past this set of doors, they walked further down the corridor and Bond stopped mid-way. They could see another door ahead of them, but Bond turned his attention to what appeared to be the door to a janitor's closet. He unlocked this door with a key.

On the other side of the door, Bond turned on the light. Q stood stunned. It was like stepping into a Swiss chalet. Pinewood paneling warmed the room. Exposed pinewood beams over a white plaster cathedral-style ceiling towered above them. From the door, it was three steps down onto the hardwood floor. Opposite them was a homely fireplace and hearth of river rock; to their left was a small kitchen with wooden dining room table and chairs; to their right was a pinewood four post king bed with more pillows than Q would ever use.

"Moneypenny decorated," said Bond. He strode to the refrigerator and peered in. "But I ordered the food." He pulled out a bottle of beer and offered it to Q.

"I prefer cider," said Q. "Or stout."

Bond raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and reached in again, pulling a stout from the machine. Q grinned and took it from him.

"Moneypenny's been to your flat and got all your clothes," said Bond. "You may want to check." Q walked to the wardrobe that shared the bedroom side of the space and sat against the same wall as the door to the corridor. Pulling it open, he recognized all his clothing, neatly pressed, and organized by color. He drank deeply from the bottle as he went through his belongings.

"Home away from home," Q muttered.

A large sofa and loveseat dominated the center of the room and Q found his way to the sofa and sat. "Shall we have a fire?" asked Bond. Q nodded and drank his stout, watching as Bond expertly built and lit the fire. Bond fell heavily into the sofa on the opposite end and slowly sipped his beer. They watched the fire in blissful silence until Q could feel his face growing warm from the stout on an empty stomach.

"I'm for bed," said Q. "Thank you, Bond."

"Then I should retire too," said Bond. He opened up the flat topped coffee table and got out a pillow and blanket.

"And where are you...?" asked Q.

"You're sitting on it, Q," replied Bond.


	13. Chapter 13

Q wasn't quite expecting this. He knew that Bond was to watch over him, but this was a step too far. "M didn't arrange for you to have your own rooms?" he asked.

How much spare room do you think MI6 has, Q?" asked Bond with a raised eyebrow.

Q blinked at him. " Good point," he said. He got up stiffly and walked toward a wooden door to the right of the hearth. The lavatory was all marble. He cleaned his teeth at the pedestal sink and looked around as he brushed. A massive steam shower took up the wall to his left. A soaking tub was at his right along the opposite wall. To the right of the sink was the toilet and as his eyes came back to the mirror in front of him, he noticed Bond standing in the doorway behind him. He finished up and stepped toward the door to let Bond in.

Bond lingered in the doorway a moment longer than necessary to the point that Q felt he had to scoot aside to get past him. For a fraction of a second they bumped each other and Bond put out a hand to stop Q. He wrapped his hand around Q's upper arm and asked, "Alright, Q?"

"Of course," Q replied a bit startled by the question.

"And you'll be alright to stay here?" said Bond.

Q looked around the room. Moneypenny had even remembered to get his alarm clock. "I think I'll be fine. Why?"

"Just concerned for you," explained Bond. "You've been jumping at shadows and I wanted to be sure."

Q reached up a hand and placed it over Bond's. "I'm fine," he said. "Besides, you'll be here, won't you?" Bond nodded, relieved. "And I've heard that you're one of the best agents MI6 has to offer." Q gave him a coy smile that Bond returned. He dropped his hold on Q's arm and closed the door between them.

Q took the momentary privacy to undress and crawl into bed. He had never before slept in a bed that was so damn comfortable. The pillows and mattress enveloped and supported him. The duvet covered him in a cloud of warmth. The sheets had to have been six-hundred count, at least.

Sleep was tugging at him when Bond exited the bathroom. He wore nothing but navy blue silk boxers, his clothes draped over one arm, his shoes in his hand. Q felt his mouth grow dry as he watched Bond stalk like a jungle cat to the sofa. He placed his clothes on the loveseat and spread out a blanket on the sofa cushions. He grabbed the pillow and fell into the sofa to that his feet were toward the bed and Q could see Bond's face. "Goodnight, Q," said Bond.

"Goodnight, 007," said Q. He wanted to say more. He wanted to offer him the other side of the bed. It was unfair that Moneypenny relegated Bond to the sofa when she decorated the room. Why should Q be so special? Didn't Bond have the more difficult task?

He opened his mouth to ask Bond a question. He took a breath to give voice to the question. He even went so far as to say, "Bond?"

Bond grunted a response and regarded Q with one eye.

"I hope you don't snore," said Q.


	14. Chapter 14

"You snore," said Bond after his first sip of coffee.

Q bit into his toast and chewed, eyeing him. "My apologies, Bond," said Q once he had swallowed his mouthful. "But no one has been around to witness me sleeping before, otherwise I would have warned you." Bond sat at the table and turned his attention to the toast. "By the way," Q continued, "you don't."

"I know," said Bond. He tore into his toast, his attitude sullen.

"And you are not a morning person," said Q.

"Again," said Bond around his mouthful. "I am aware."

Q grinned. He had never seen James Bond stroppy for no good reason. He had seen him belligerent, dealt with him when argumentative, even consoled him when he was defeated, but he had never had the pleasure of watching him angrily masticate as though he had a personal vendetta against the bread industry.

"What?" asked Bond, finishing his toast.

"Nothing," said Q, hiding his grin behind his cuppa.

Bond's eyes narrowed. "Just for that, I'll have the first shower," said Bond. "Don't expect there to be any hot water for you when I'm done." He placed a second slice in his mouth, took up his coffee and stalked off to the shower.

Q couldn't stop himself from watching James glide elegantly away. By the time Q realized he had been staring, Bond had disappeared behind the wooden door.

Q slowly chewed the remainder of his breakfast and occupied himself with his emails. Still no word on Silva or Varguese. He reflexively brought his head up at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Before he knew it, Bond was walking through the center of the room wearing nothing but a towel. Unfortunately, Q was just drinking the last of his tea and choked and spluttered when he caught sight of Bond.

Bond didn't even glance at Q. In a very business-like manner he strode to an armoire which sat to the left of the fireplace, opened it, and selected something to wear. He was facing away from Q and toward the carved cabinet when he dropped his towel to the floor. James Bond stood stark naked, his bare backside in full view of Q. When he lifted his leg to put on a fresh pair of boxers, Q almost looked away - almost.

Slowly the silk came up and covered the most perfectly turned arse Q had ever seen. He actually felt an ache at the loss of such visual perfection. The ache manifested in his chest and settled in his groin. Q's erection was undeniable.

Q felt something wet hit his hand. He looked down and to his horror realized that he was actually drooling. James Bond's naked arse had turned him into a dribbling imbecile. He quickly wiped it away and closed his mouth, wiping away whatever saliva lingered on his lips with his napkin.

Fortunately, Q had had the presence of mind to don his bathrobe before breakfast and as he hurried to the shower, he used it to conceal his obvious excitement.

He shut the door behind him and leaned on it heavily. He caught his reflection in the mirror. His face was painted with outright lust.

And to think: this was just their first morning together.


	15. Chapter 15

Q turned on the taps to the shower and the overhead showerhead came on. He was surprised to feel the water so warm. He supposed Bond had had a change of heart once his coffee had a moment to register in his system and he stopped being grumpy. He dropped his robe and his cotton boxers and stepped under the spray. 

This was the largest shower Q had ever been in. It was also the poshest. There wasn't just the gigantic overhead shower spray, there were three more showerheads to either side of him. By way of experiment, he turned the handle that switched the water flow. The water from above went off and the side spigots came on. It was unusual to feel water coming at him from both sides, as though he were being caressed by two lovers at once. It was downright erotic. This was not helping the state of his erection.

Q took up the soap. There was nothing for it. He would just have to hope that the hot water lasted and that he wasn't so loud that Bond would figure out what he was doing.

He wrapped a slicked up hand over his throbbing cock and slowly pumped his fist, teasing his tip with his fingertips, and then gliding back down his shaft. He cupped and massaged his balls with his other hand. His head fell back and he closed his eyes as he stood under the horizontal spray, trying to absorb all the sensations he could.

In his mind's eye he saw Bond's arse: the curve of the flesh, the firmness of the skin, the flex of the muscle. He pictured running the tip of his tongue down Bond's spine to the base, pausing in that little dip of flesh just above his buttocks. He wondered if Bond were ticklish there or if it would drive him insane to have Q's tongue flicking over that sensitive area. He imagined placing small kisses to his arse; soft kisses intended to raise the gooseflesh and cause Bond to moan for him. He wanted to hear James say his name. He wanted to watch as the double-o agent writhed with need underneath him.

For a couple of days now, Q had needed his power back. He had not really had a sense of self since the attack and here before him in his fantasies was an opportunity to have something - someone - under his command, under his control. He wondered how long it would be before Bond would break and beg him to plunge his tongue deep inside his hole. Hell, how long would it be before he begged for his fingers... or for his cock? His stroke became erratic at this thought.

He wanted to fuck Bond senseless, to render him speechless, to own him and claim him and rule him and dominate him. He wanted Bond to beg him for sex and suck him off to prove his worth. "That's it," Q would say to him. "That's a good agent... suck your quartermaster dry. You want to please him, don't you, 007? Don't you, my little bitch?"

Q's orgasm shook him to his core. His eyes clamped shut he came in hard bursts as his fist frantically milked his dick and the spray washed away the evidence. He turned and leaned against the marble wall, sliding down to the shower floor, panting.

What the hell was that?

Q had never had a domination fantasy before. Christ... that was intense. And it felt a little wrong. Granted, it was just a fantasy, but the reason for it was repellent. He didn't want to use Bond as a way for him to reclaim some perceived loss of power. Bond shouldn't have to be submissive to him so that Q could feel better about himself. No. That way madness lies. That's the reasoning of a bully. Q was anything but a bully. No. He wanted Bond because he was comforting and comfortable, strong and safe. The fantasy of dominance was an illusion.

Q wanted some of his own back, but abusing Bond was not the way to go about it.

He clambered to his feet and washed himself as usual and left the shower. As he stood in front of the mirror to shave, he looked himself in the eye. That was not the face of a bully. It was the face of a sad and lost little boy.


	16. Chapter 16

James saw Q disappear into the bathroom and smirked. That went better than expected. He felt a pang of guilt, playing on Q's emotions like that, but it was the only way he could think of to guarantee that the quartermaster would bolt from the room. Now... to see if he left his email up.

Bond strode to the table and looked on Q's portable tablet computer. Sure enough, the page display showed Q's email account. He quickly scanned through the inbox picking his head up when he heard the shower start. He was glad he left enough hot water for Q as it would be a trick trying to read through all these emails with Q taking the quickest cold shower in the history of the world. Between the hot water available and Bond's display, James knew that Q would have a wank - unless he weren't truly human, or if Bond had read him wrong.

Bond knew Q was attracted to him. He had to be. Q had denied it, but it was all a lie. Q just didn't want to be unprofessional. Bond supposed that if he were a young agent and deemed worthy enough to run an entire branch of MI6 that he would also concern himself with improprieties. This was, of course, why Bond was never put in charge of anything. He was much better off as a field agent. 

And that was the exact reason that this assignment was killing him. He should be on the task force looking for Singh and Varguese. It was stupid to keep him here cooped up with Q. It was boring as well.

Bond skimmed over Q's emails and picked out one that had come in early this morning. Singh and Varguese were still not found. No further news was available. Their families were being notified.

James shook his head and went back to his armoire. He thanked whatever mercy existed in Moneypenny's heart that she had at least provided a proper space for his belongings, if not a place to sleep. The woman could be cruel if she chose. He was glad she was on our side. He selected black trousers and a classic white shirt. He towel-dried his hair roughly and put on his socks and shoes. He normally didn't carry a firearm when he was "home", but technically he was on a mission. He put on the underarm holster, checked his firearm, and secured it. A plain black suit jacket went over this and Bond turned to the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Q looked a bit peaky for some reason. Perhaps the wank didn't go as planned. Q wore his bathrobe over his towel. His hair was wet and slicked back. Bond thought he looked good with it like that. In his mind's eye he flashed to a wet and showering Q... and how good it might feel to join him. He shook the notion away with a chuckle. "Do you want me to step out, Q?" he asked.

Q gave him a glance as he stood before his armoire. "No, 007," he replied. "I'm no more shy than you." And with that, he took off his robe, draping it on a chair in the corner between bed and armoire.

Bond's jaw dropped. A gigantic purple and red bruise lined the left side of Q's back. His right knee had a small bruise too, right on the kneecap. As James came toward him, Q turned to face him curiously and Bond saw another purple and red mark just above his belly but below his ribs; it was the size and shape of a man's fist. The evidence of Q's struggle was painted all across his alabaster flesh and James felt a bad taste develop in his mouth. "Jesus, Q," was all he could manage to say.

Q looked down at himself. "Yes," said Q. He shrugged. "Nothing to be done about them until they fade off on their own."

"Do they hurt badly?" asked Bond, well aware of how he feels when bruised that badly. But he was a field agent. He was used to such things happening. In fact, he'd pretty much trained himself to ignore bruises. They just came with the job. But Q was different. He wasn't a field agent. He was never meant to get hurt. Bond wanted to touch the wounds, but not if Q didn't want him too.

"They're uncomfortable, but unless someone bumps me, I don't really notice - save the one on my back. That one throbs sometimes. It's where I fell when he threw me off." Q gave Bond a curious look. "It's all to be expected, 007," he said, explaining. "I got into a fight. Bruises happen, you know."

"Y-yes," said Bond, still shocked at the sight of an injured Q, "I know, Q. It's just... It's.... Well, it's you, isn't it?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Q.

"You're not meant to be hurt like this," said Bond, meeting his eyes. Up until then, his eyes hadn't left the bruises along Q's skin. Bond wanted so badly to kiss them away, to heal him. The look in Bond's eyes must have contained some of his grief and helplessness at the sight of Q, because Q impulsively put a hand to his face.

Q said softly: "Thank you for your concern, James, but I'll be fine."


	17. Chapter 17

Q's heart was thrumming in his chest when he placed his hand on Bond's face. He was surprised at the steadiness in his own voice when he spoke assuring him that he would be alright.

Q felt like a right little shit. If James only knew about that horrible moment in his fantasy... it made Q sick to think of this wonderful, hard-working, driven individual on his knees before him and grovelling. Q's stupid heart twisted his own pain and put it onto Bond instead. It wasn't fair. Bond deserved better. And so, Q hoped to make up for this emotional betrayal by this small act of kindness at a moment when Bond needed to hear that Q was stronger than either of them thought; Q's words did Bond a favor and surprisingly, it seemed to help Q too.

Bond took a breath and raised his hand to gently touch Q's. He resisted the urge to kiss it as he brought it down and held it. "Good to hear, Q," he managed.

"You're really struggling with this assignment, aren't you?" asked Q. Bond nodded and a pained expression crossed his features.

"I need to do something, Q," said Bond. "I realize someone has to mind you, but I can feel my soul atrophy as I sit there and do nothing but watch you type code and drink tea. So..." Bond grimaced, bracing for Q's temper. "...I took a peek at your email."

"You did what?" asked Q.

"I wanted to know what the progress was on Varguese and Singh," explained Bond. "Ever since M put me on this assignment, he's given me no information about the progress of the search. Hell, you're finding out more about the situation than I am. So... I peeked."

Q sighed. He really couldn't blame Bond. "I told M when this all began that to use you for this was a waste of resources. I knew you'd be an ill fit." Q shivered as a droplet of water from his wet head hit the middle of his back.

"You're cold," said Bond, releasing Q's hand and turning away. "I'll light another fire."

"No, Bond," said Q. "I'm going to get dressed and head upstairs. I've still more coding to do. Harbinger is hardly finished."

"But it's Saturday," said Bond. "I thought you boffins took the weekends off."

"M's orders, I'm afraid," said Q.

Bond nodded. "I'll give you some privacy then." He walked to the door.

"You needn't bother," said Q, removing his towel. "I told you I'm not shy." He cocked a sly grin at Bond and threw the towel over his head to dry his hair vigorously.


	18. Chapter 18

Bond was shocked at Q's bravado. He didn't know what the man was thinking. First he ran like a rabbit when Bond stripped (which was Bond's intent and thank God that worked), then he came out of the shower seemingly melancholy and reflective, and then he was tender, now playful. Bond shook his head. "What are you up to, Q?"

"What do you mean, 007?" said Q as he reached into the armoire for his clothes. The towel rested around his neck and draped about his shoulders. His hair was still damp, but not dripping and very tousled from the toweling Q had just given it.

"Are we back to calling me 007 again? I was "James" just a minute ago," said Bond.

Q put on his pants and trousers, taking care to not irritate the bruise on his back. He selected a button down shirt and knitted vest and was putting them on when he finally answered him: "You were "James" a minute ago because you needed to hear it. You're 007 again because we're about to go upstairs and back to work. And incidentally, not all boffins have the weekends off. I can't remember the last time I did something that foolish -- even without M ordering it." 

"You call taking time off foolish?" asked Bond.

"A waste of time that could be used in pursuit of Her Majesty's protection and interests. Yes, I call it foolish." said Q as he buttoned the last button on the vest and turned to Bond. "Ready to go?"

Bond stared overlong at Q. He was acting strangely. Now he's gone from flirtatious to clinical. These mixed signals were too confusing. Bond was a direct individual and Q was being... obtuse, mercurial. He had had enough. He decided to try a tack he hadn't taken with Q before: logic. "Q, according to the conversation we had only moments ago, you said that my presence here was a waste of valuable resources, that I should be out in the field, correct?"

"Yes," said Q, curious as to where this all was going.

"And you also claim to not be attracted to me," said Bond. "Is that true?"

"I think you realize that it is not," said Q, blushing a bit, "But you need to understand--"

James held up a hand. "So when you saw me naked," said Bond, "did you or did you not... er... in the shower?" Q turned crimson. "I'll take that as a yes," continued Bond. "Now tell me: Do you want me here with you so you can flirt with me behind closed doors and treat me like a servant when we're on duty, or do you want me out there looking for the people who are looking for you and Harbinger? Because, I've got to tell you, Q: I'm damned confused and you need to explain yourself. Now."

Q felt himself blush anew at these words. The truth was, he didn't know what he wanted. And it scared the hell out of him.


	19. Chapter 19

"The truth is...," began Q. But what was the truth? He was attracted to Bond. He didn't want to really treat him like a servant. (Was that how he came across?) He wanted to know who was after him and Harbinger. He thought Bond best suited for field work. Q wanted to kiss Bond. Q wanted to wrap his body around the man and sleep for weeks, he was so tired. It had only been days since the attack, but he was a husk of a man. He saw it in his reflection as he was shaving. If it wasn't for his damn fool pride...

"The truth is," Q began again, "I'm tired... and I'm scared and I want to know who's after me." He regarded Bond with soulful eyes. "I'm done, James. All I've been doing for the past day and half has been coding Harbinger and praying that no one manages to poison my food. I'm jumpy. I'm wired. I'm just fucking scared. And I'm trying like hell to keep it together. And when I'm at work, I can fall into typing code. But when I'm here, there is no escape. And your presence is a constant reminder than things are not normal, that my life is not my own, so... I lash out, in a way. That's where the flirting is coming from. It's inappropriate and uncalled for and I am deeply sorry. You don't deserve it." Bond just stood there and let Q get it all out. "What you do deserve is to help in the investigation as to who would want control of Harbinger."

"What is Harbinger anyway?" asked Bond.

"You read the file. In M's office. I saw you look at it," said Q.

"Skimmed it," said Bond. Q's eyes widened in surprise. Bond shrugged. "It was a top-secret report. I usually skim them." Q rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look... All I know is that it's some kind of early warning system," said Bond.

"It allows for a satellite to transmit back any audio from any device with a microphone. With it, we can focus on certain cities and the program will filter for certain trigger words. Once those words are registered, the location of the spoken word will be pinpointed within one city block," said Q.

"Find out who's talking terrorism and take them out first," said Bond. Q nodded. "Genius, Q." Bond shook his head. "Most likely illegal, but genius all the same. Where'd you get the idea?"

"There was a superhero movie that used cell signals to echo-locate building structures," said Q. "I thought, what the hell? As to the legality... well. That's for the boffins in Parliament to kick about."

Bond raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You see movies?"

"I take the time to visit museums," said Q. "Why wouldn't I see movies?"

Bond shrugged off an answer. He was actually speechless. Once again, Q was a complete surprise.

"So," said Q, "What happens now?"

"Now we work together to get our lives back," said Bond with a grin.

Q narrowed his eyes. This smelled like trouble. He cocked a grin at Bond. It would be worth it.


	20. Chapter 20

"But first," said Bond. "I have to have the answer to a question that's been bothering me for days now." He stepped to Q, placing his hands on Q's shoulders and bringing his face close to his. As he asked his question, Q could feel the flutter of Bond's breath against his face. He also noticed he had a day's worth of stubble on his chin. Dear God, how Q wanted to kiss him.

Q cleared his throat and asked, "What is it, 007?"

"My name's James," corrected Bond. "What's yours?"

Q looked at him almost not understanding. Was that Bond's question? He wanted to know his name? "Geoffrey," said Q. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Your whole name, Mr. Geoffrey," said Bond.

Q chuckled. "Not everyone introduces themselves as you do, James." said Q, emphasizing the use of the agent's first name as he spoke. "My first name's Geoffrey. Geoffrey Boothroyd."

"Geoffrey," said Bond. A thrill went through Q as he heard his name uttered properly by the agent. He wanted to hear him say it again and again.

"Yes," said Q. "That's right. Was there anything else? Or are you ready to go upstairs now? I still have code to type and you have... trouble to get yourself into. Don't you?"

Bond gave him a smirk and leaned in slowly. The kiss he planted on Q's mouth was soft and chaste and slow and perfect and dear God, Q did not want to leave this flat for all the tea in China. Q felt his toes curl in his shoes as the kiss broke. He almost whimpered at the loss. "We need to plan before we execute, Geoffrey," said Bond. "I think you may have earned a day off considering that it is a Saturday and you are very jumpy today."

"Honestly, Bond- er- James," replied Q, utterly bewildered by the kiss, "I'm fine. It's fine. Just fine. I'll be fine... Fine."

"And since you've said it five times, that means you're really very fine," said Bond, sarcastically. Q blushed and attempted to push Bond away in feigned exasperation. Bond battled lightly to grab onto Q again and after a moment, Q found himself once more in the blissful embrace of James Bond, his arms wrapped around the agent's chest, his chin propped up on the man's shoulder.

Q pulled back his head and looked at James. "Do you really want to stay here and plan, or did you just want to sleep with me?" he asked.

Bond cocked a sly grin at him and said: "Honestly? Both."


	21. Chapter 21

Bond's next kiss wasn't half so chaste. His tongue licked at Q's lips and Q was all too eager to taste him. Coffee mingled with the sweet warmth that was James and Q found that he couldn't get enough. His hands ran to either side of Bond's face, cupping him and controlling the kiss: now sweet and tender, next bold and passionate, finally slow and smoldering. Each second was an opportunity for exploration along tongues, teeth, lips, sucking and nibbling each other, making the most delicious-sounding moans to accompany their released passions. James could kiss Q for days and Q felt the same.

Bond slowly guided Q back to the bed. He held the quartermaster lightly by the hips, ever-mindful of the bruising along his back and on his stomach. As they stood before its edge, Bond asked, "Will you be OK, Q?"

"I should be fine, James," said Q, smiling sweetly at him. He gave him a kiss to seal his statement and they fell once again into another long snog, each man pulling moans of desire from the other and leaving trails of fire along one another's skin with their fingertips. Q broke the kiss to watch his fingers slowly unbutton Bond's shirt. Inch by inch, golden skin was revealed until, finally, Q reached Bond's belt. He caught Bond's eye just to be sure it was alright to proceed. The blue of Bond's eyes had been shoved aside by his blown pupils, his cheeks and lips were ruddy, his breath came in pants. Q watched Bond's face as he let the back of one hand slowly glide over the prominent bulge in Bond's trousers. Q's mouth watered when he saw Bond's breath hitch, his head tilt back, and his eyes close. Bond let out a moan of desire and swallowed hard as Q watched in utter fascination. Dear God, that was worth all of it: all the waiting and wanting and shoving aside, all the fantasies and dreams denied by the cruel and harsh light of reality; Bond was really his now and his moans were just for Geoffrey.

"Jesus Christ, James," whispered Q as his nimble fingers loosened the belt and trousers. "I've wanted you for so long, I can barely stand it."

"Even after Hong Kong?" asked Bond. That was a particularly difficult mission and Bond had to let Q think him missing and possibly dead in order to pull it off.

"Do you feel guilty about Hong Kong?" asked Q, continuing to undress Bond by slipping his now loose shirt over his shoulders and letting the material drop to the floor. Q circled around behind Bond and kissed every scar on his back gently.

"I do," said Bond, closing his eyes and relishing the sensation of warm unseen lips against his skin. "For making you believe I was dead. Considering what I know about you now, it's cruel."

"Hindsight," said Q. "It's always 20/20." He placed a final kiss to Bond's shoulder as he came around him again and faced him. "No worries, James. It was a long time ago. All is forgiven." He kissed his mouth quickly. "Although, I must say that if you ever do it again, I will definitely find a way to kill you myself."

Bond smirked. "I'd like to see you try."

Q grinned. "I have my ways, 007," he said. "Now come here. I want to taste you again."


	22. Chapter 22

Wet, soft, sucking kisses were exchanged as they both moved to the bed. They knelt and faced one another as Bond carefully removed Q's vest and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Finally, Bond's fingertips caressed the bruise on Q's abdomen as he longed to do when he first saw it. His face held concern and he looked at Q.

"How do you think I feel when I see you battered and bruised at the debriefings?" said Q. "It breaks my heart, James."

"Well," said Bond, "At least now you can do something about it." Bond kissed him gently.

"Do you mean to say that you're actually... committing to me, James?" said Q.

"If you haven't noticed, Q," said James. "I am quite fond of you." He kissed him again and deeply, his tongue licking against Q's languorously.

Q pulled his shirt from his trousers as James explored his mouth with his tongue. He needed to feel this man inside him as soon as possible. He needed to taste him, to suck his cock. He wanted to feel James go down on him, humming his pleasure along his frenulum. The need was such that he found himself ripping his own flies open and pulling down his trousers and pants to relieve his throbbing cock. "I wanted to do that," said Bond.

"Sorry," panted Q. "It had to be done. I can't stand it. I need you, James. Please." Q placed small kisses along Bond's jawline and down his neck interjecting a "please" between almost every kiss and moaning helplessly whenever his mouth was touching Bond's skin. Bond carded both his hands through Q's damp hair and rubbed his face against Q's head as he made his way along Bond's collarbone.

Bond whispered in his ear: "You can have anything you like, Q. I'm here for you. I want to make you feel good. And I want to feel you against me."

"Will you...?" said Q, making eye contact with Bond.

"Will I what?" asked Bond.

"I- I-mean," stammered Q, "I-if you don't want t-to...."

"What is it, love?" asked Bond, pushing back Q's fringe and placing a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Would you... suck me off?" asked Q. "I mean, if you don't want to... or if you don't do that sort of thing, it's alright, Bond."

Bond smiled. "Shh... Geoffrey," he soothed. "Shh... Rest assured, I'm in this all the way. I'm yours. And I really do want to taste you... everywhere."


	23. Chapter 23

Bond let his hands run down Q's naked sides, slipping past his waist and caressing his hips with a soft touch as he nuzzled into Q's neck, sucking gently at the delicate skin. Q felt himself grow achingly hard at the tender care Bond was demonstrating. He hadn't thought the agent capable of this kind of genuine tenderness nor did he suspect Bond willing to commit to him so readily. It was all a bit overwhelming.

Bond dipped his head down and under Q's left arm. O felt the gooseflesh spread as warm soft kisses were placed along the bruised patch of skin along his side and back. Q ran his hands down Bond's spine and hummed his approval. Bond's warm skin was surprisingly soft and pliant under his hands. Q never wanted to stop touching him.

Q could feel Bond's hands and arms snaking their way across his back and buttocks as the agent continued his trail of healing kisses across Q's damaged skin. Slowly, Q felt himself begin to grind his hips as his cock sought badly-needed friction.

Bond brought his head back up and simultaneously cupped Q's balls. He gasped at the sensation and his moan of pleasure was swallowed up by Bond's hot mouth. Bond gently squeezed Q's scrotum, massaging the delicate flesh as he delved his tongue into Q's waiting mouth. All was breath and wet sounds of needy flesh against flesh as they bruised each other with their kiss.

Bond broke their kiss, pulling back to look at a debauched and lust-filled Geoffrey. "God, you're gorgeous," said Bond.

"Jesus Christ, James," said Q. "You feel so fucking good."

"Been a while for you, Geoffrey?" Bond asked as he kissed Q's neck again.

"Embarrassingly, yes," said Q.

"Then it seems I've got a lot to make up for," said Bond "On your back, boy."

Slowly, hardly daring to believe his own senses, Q reclined against the pillows and watched in awestruck silence as Bond positioned himself between his knees. Q could see Bond's trousers straining against his erection. "Why don't you let me-" began Q. He was silenced by a kiss to the inside of his left knee. His breath stuttered and hitched as Bond made his way tortuously slowly toward his groin. Q's hips ground slowly in anticipation of the hot wet sensation of Bond's mouth on his aching member.

The moment Bond's tongue licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, Q came unglued: he cried out, his hips bucked for more friction and head, and his back arched in a long lean line, head pressed hard to the pillows. "CHRIST, Bond!" said Q. "Oh fucking Christ. More. More! Please... this is fucking torture... please." Q fairly whimpered with need.

Bond grinned at him, swiped a finger over his precum-coated tip, and sucked the taste off his digit, watching Q as an expression of aching need bloomed on Q's face.

"Yes, sir," said Bond. "Anything for my quartermaster."


	24. Chapter 24

Q watched as Bond swallowed his cock. Slowly his head sank down and the warm wet sensation of that amazing mouth caused Q to moan and tilt his head back into the pillows. As he pulled off, Q could feel Bond's tongue teasing his shaft and the slow soft suction he used around the head nearly drove him to madness. "Oh yes, James," said Q. "Jesus, yes. Don't stop. Fuck." Bond hummed his approval as his lips kissed Q's frenulum and Q nearly came from the vibration. "Son of a bitch!" he cried. "Oh fucking hell, James!"

Q carded his hands through Bond's close-cropped hair and relished the sensations generated from a very talented set of lips and a wicked tongue. Several minutes later Q wasn't far off from cumming into Bond's mouth; a thing he didn't want to do. At least, not on their first time. Coated in saliva, his cock throbbed as he pulled Bond off of him. Precum trailed wantonly from Bond's mouth as Q said: "Please take off your trousers, James. I want to suck you off. Please... I have to taste you."

Bond flashed him a wicked grin and obliged. He reclined on the other side of the bed, his head on the pillows and watched Q climb toward him. Unlike him, Q positioned himself to Bond's side, giving the agent ample opportunity to caress Q's back - being mindful of his bruising - and down along his buttocks. His other hand occupied itself with moving Q's mop of hair away from his face. Bond wanted to see that beautiful mouth swallow him up. Q did not disappoint.

Q had hold of Bond's shaft at the base and was allowing the tip of Bond's cock to stretch his cheek out just before swallowing his prick as deeply as he could stand. The sight of it was almost too much for Bond to bear. In response, he squeezed Q's arse and let loose with a string of epithets that would make a sailor blush. Taking a cheeky cue from Bond, Q hummed his approval along Bond's frenulum and watched with impish delight when the agent tilted his head back and lost the power to speak the Queen's English.

After several minutes of teasing him to distraction, Q pulled off of Bond and stroked him lazily watching the desire spread over his face. "Tell me what you want, Bond," said Q. He honestly didn't know whether Bond was a top or a bottom, but was willing to wait for Bond to tell him, rather than assume.

"You," replied Bond.

Q grinned. "No, you pillock," said Q. "Do you top?"

"I've done both. But tonight, I want what you want, Geoffrey," said Bond.

"Lubricant?" asked Q. Bond opened the bedside table's drawer and peeked in. God bless Moneypenny. She must have brothers. A small bottle of lube sat in the corner and Bond snatched it up and handed it to Q.

"I'm all yours, Geoffrey," said Bond.


	25. Chapter 25

Q leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly. When he next spoke, he interspersed kisses between every sentence as if to make his point all the more clear. "No, James," said he. "I don't own you. You are not my servant. Or my property. You are you. I am me. And this is us... being together."

Bond grinned. "I like that," said Bond and he took Q gently by the hips, guiding him to straddle over his torso. He took the bottle of lube and began to stroke Q off, slicking him up. Q arched his back in response. When Bond was done, Q leaned forward and gave him a kiss that was more tongue than lips and made Bond chase after his mouth for more.

Q smiled when Bond actually whimpered with need. "Easy, James," said Q, sliding himself between Bond's knees. "First let me prepare you. Alright?" Bond nodded and raised up his legs so Q could apply some lubricant and finally caress his aching hole. When Q pushed in his first finger, Bond sighed with pleasure. It had been years since he was penetrated, but he remembers enjoying it - insofar as one can enjoy getting fucked by an ambassador to Turkey who held trade secrets between the Saudis and the Chinese in his computer. But that was a case. Geoffrey Boothroyd was decidedly not a case. Not anymore. He was a lover as of this moment. Granted, he was a lover in trouble and marked for kidnapping, torture, and possibly death, but he was certainly not a case.

The last thing Bond wanted was for Geoffrey to get hurt. Even before things became intimate between them, he would have ripped the world apart to find Q's kidnappers. Normally, this is where Bond's thoughts would drift to where he should be: tracking down the fiends who wanted Q's secret Harbinger project. But on this day, in this hour, in this room... Bond wanted nothing more than to watch his precious quartermaster cum inside him hard.

Bond bucked against the three fingers with which Q was fucking him. "Oh fuck's sake, Geoffrey!" said Bond. "Just fuck me. Please!" Q removed his hand and lined up his cock. The pressure of the entry was not quite a relief to both of them, not the end of the urgency they felt. It became an appetite whetted; ready for the main course, it was a panting and salivating hunger that needed to be sated.

Soon, Q moved past Bond's sphincters and he felt his shaft glide smoothly and steadily into Bond's heat. "Holy Christ," said Q. "Jesus fuck, you feel so good! So tight... ah!" Balls-deep and waiting, Q stared into Bond's eyes looking for the man to give him some sign that he could move. His prick wouldn't last much longer inside this amazing man; he was fit to burst.

Bond gazed at his Geoffrey. He had never had such a connection with anyone before. It could present a danger in the future, but for now, Bond threw caution to the wind. For now, the future would keep.

The two men tromboned together, their rhythm slow and steady at first, becoming increasingly wanton and lascivious as their greed for orgasm took over their senses. Soon enough, they were slapping together, Bond with his knees hitched up by Q's hands and bucking his hips on Q's every thrust to help drive him in deeper. Strangely, not a syllable was exchanged between them; their eyes spoke volumes. 

Q's breath stuttered and he cried out James' name as he came, the orgasm pushing through him and outward into Bond. Bond came on the heels of Q's passion, his back arching for a moment, only to collapse as his hips thrust upward seeking deeper penetration, a stronger push on his prostate. He saw stars with the force of it, but the temporary pain became instant pleasure as he bucked and ground into a panting and collapsed Q.

Bond wrapped his arms around Q's upper back and held him closely. He moved Q's hair out of the way with a hand rendered heavy with fatigue and gently kissed Q's forehead. "I know I don't own you, Geoffrey," he whispered to a dozing Q. "But truth be told, we do belong to each other."


	26. Chapter 26

The cleanup afterward was perfunctory at best using a wet flannel Bond had retrieved from the bathroom. Both men fell asleep promptly afterward, comfortable in each other's arms.

Hours later, Q awoke to a soft kiss being placed between his shoulder blades. He hummed his approval as the kisses trailed down and collected at the base of his spine. Bond's warm hands rested on either side of his hips, steadying him as Q gently bucked into the wet warm sensation, eager for more. Bond's teeth nibbled and scraped at his skin and Q's breath hitched. "God, James," he breathed.

"Oh good," said Bond. "You're awake."

Q smiled. "You weren't sure?"

"I had my doubts," said Bond as he placed a final teasing kiss on Q's spine. He brought his head up to the pillows and looked at his sleepy quartermaster. He brushed back his hair and said, "You do a lot of moaning in your sleep."

"Do I?" asked Q.

"Mmm," said Bond in a lazy affirmative. "Never and out-and-out nightmare, but you're obviously not having pleasant dreams."

"I don't remember my dreams," said Q.

"Probably just as well, Geoffrey," said Bond. He smoothed a hand down Q's milky skin.

Q picked up his head and kissed Bond quickly. "Toilet," he said. "Be right back." When he returned, he found Bond sitting upright against the headboard with his laptop in his lap. "And what do you think you're doing, 007?"

Bond raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? I"m trying to hack you," he said.

Q laughed loud and hard. "YOU'RE trying to hack ME?! You must be joking!" He crawled over Bond's legs and sat beside him under the duvet. "Give me that," he said. Bond handed over the computer. The screen display blinked red. Bond was on the last attempt before the hard drive self-destructed. Q shook his head and glared at Bond. "Why didn't you just ask me?"

"This way was more fun," he said with a shrug. Q gave him a dirty look and Bond grinned. Q typed in a complex password Bond had no hope of following and pulled up the mainframe computer.

"What did you want to see?" asked Q.

"Harbinger," said Bond.

"It's a concept, Bond," said Q. "It's all computer code."

"Still," said Bond.

"You won't understand it," said Q.

"Q," said Bond sternly.

Q sighed and pulled up the programming code file by remote secure access. The screen began to fill with symbols and numbers, line after line, until there was no room for anything else. Q set the laptop in Bond's lap. "Is this the whole thing so far? asked Bond. Q nodded. "And there's more to come?" Again, Q nodded. The code on the screen made Bond nervous with its potential. And nothing unnerves James Bond.


	27. Chapter 27

Bond took a moment to gaze at the computer. "You're right," he said. "I don't understand a thing."

"Told you," said Q. He sighed and leaned back against the headboard.

The cursor blinked at Bond at the bottom of the screen. "I'll tell you what I do know," said Bond.

"What's that?" Q had closed his eyes and snuggled his way down into the pillows just a bit. His brain was completely relaxed.

"I know that this," here he gestured to the screen, "is the source of a lot of our headache, you and I."

"M thinks it extremely important," said Q.

"It's dangerous," said Bond.

"True," said Q. "I know I wouldn't want it in the wrong hands."

"Exactly my point,Q," said Bond. "If anyone gets hold of this, no one in the world would be safe."

"Mmm," said Q. He was rapidly falling back asleep, propped up as he was by more pillows than headboard. Bond glanced over at him. His face was achingly angelic as he slept. Poor Q, thought Bond. There was too much riding on his shoulders.

Bond was a simple man by nature; things were either black or white, good or bad, dead or alive to him. There were no grey areas. When he was sent on a mission, it has one objective -- two at the most -- and anyone who got in the way got eliminated. Simple.

This computer program read as bad to Bond's better instincts. On the screen, inert, it didn't look like much. But it's potential for utter chaos was off the charts. Then again, Bond only had rudimentary computer skills compared to Q. He wanted to believe that Q would include fail-safes in case of emergencies. He hoped the genius would have the forethought enough. He looked at Q again and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The man hadn't gotten much sleep in the past few days. He really wasn't himself and it killed Bond to not have a way to stop it.. Bond fought a desperate urge to smash the computer in his lap because of that. But then, that wouldn't solve the problem, would it? The laptop was only one remote point of access to the program file. If he destroyed the laptop, he still wouldn't destroy the program.

Bond sighed in frustration. He scrolled through the code looking for anything familiar. He was practically out of his depth at the complexity of it. It had been a long time since he tried to hack anything more complicated than an email. He remembered a few things he watched others do from his various missions - including a few things Q had pulled off - but he never studied programming.

He grimaced as he watched the cursor. He hated the whole damn thing. He wanted Q to be able to work and sleep when he needed to and be happy and free to do as he pleased. He didn't want him to be trapped here because of a stupid program that the world would fight over once it was completed.

Bond narrowed his eyes and on a whim, typed what he thought to be an over-simplified command into the computer. He looked at it for a moment, wondering if it would work, and hit the enter key.


	28. Chapter 28

"You did WHAT?" screamed Q. Bond shrugged and watched Q pound the keys of his computer his face looking more and more desperate as the seconds ticked by. "When did you do this?" asked Q.

"Just seconds after you fell asleep," said Bond. "Honestly, I didn't think it would work!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, James!" said Q running his fingers through his hair and mussing it spectacularly. "I can't recover it." He looked helplessly at Bond. "No one can. That command erased the entire fucking sodding bloody code! Do you have ANY idea the MONTHS of man-hours that took? To get us this far? Holy Mary.... M's going to kill me." Q sat in the kitchen chair heavily and stared off into the middle distance.

Bond's attempt at erasing the code was half-hearted. While he didn't know if the command he typed in would work, he really half hoped it would have no effect -- simply because he knew Q would explode the way he was doing now. When the code disappeared from the screen, Bond felt sick. But, he reasoned, it was all for the best. After all, if any nation got their hands on such technology, it would be only a matter of time before they found a way to abuse it. Human beings are not prepared for that kind of ethical responsibility - no matter their intent - for good or ill. Bond had seen corruption develop in the hearts of the kindest of men who intended good things with their actions and words. They never saw themselves in the wrong; they never realized that what they were doing was unfair to certain other parties. But Bond had borne witness to countless well-meaning leaders who managed to screw over the other guy and all in the name of saving the world. So... it only followed logically that Bond should screw over the world - in order to save it.

Of course, he didn't tell Q what he had done until they were both up, dressed, fed, and Q had attempted to open the laptop to check his emails.

"Breathe, Geoffrey-" began Bond as he reached for Q's arm.

"Don't you "Geoffrey" me, James Bond!" said Q, flinching at his touch. "I'm your Quartermaster and you've fucked me royally." A thought occurred to Q: "Was that your plan? To gain my trust enough to wipe out the code? Did you just... fucking USE me?"

"No!" said James. "Of course not, Geof- erm... Q."

Q narrowed his eyes at James. "Don't you lie to me, 007," he said. "With your background in the Navy, I could still have you hung from a yardarm." Bond straightened at this. Q had never sounded so vicious.

"Don't you see that this is for the best?" said Bond. "Now no one has it!"

"You stupid-" began Q before cutting himself off. He shook his head. "I still know how it works, Bond! I'm still at risk here! It's my baby, my project!" Bond blinked with the realization of Q's meaning. "They'll be after me more than ever now. I'm the only fucking link to the program. M will NEVER let me go now. You've sealed me alive in the tomb, James. I'll never leave MI6 again."

James could just hear Q's heart breaking over the sound of his own heart beating a devil's tattoo in his ears.


	29. Chapter 29

"Well... shit," said Bond.

"Shit is right," said Q miserably. "I was within weeks of finishing it. All it would need after that would be about six weeks of testing and bam! Done!" He shook his head at the computer screen. "And now..." Q wanted to cry. He wanted to smash the computer over Bond's cretinous thick head. He understood Bond's reasoning. The program was inherently dangerous. It would have to be either bottled up or destroyed once it was created, but now... now Q was in quite a fucking mess. Suddenly, Q needed air. He stood. "I've got to go," he said.

Bond stood. "Where?" he asked.

"Anywhere but here," said Q and pointed a finger at Bond. "And you're not to follow."

"But-" began Bond.

"I know your orders," said Q cutting him off. "But right now, I need to get the hell away from you and out of this room." He headed toward the door. "I can't breathe in here." He opened the door and made his way back down the corridor.

Bond watched the door close behind Q and a wave of nausea hit him. He leaned on the table until the feeling passed, but he couldn't ignore that his body was telling him that he did something wrong. This was somehow worse than botching a mission; this was hurting Geoffrey. And it was all his fault. James couldn't do anything about the lost program code and yet, the need to help fix this was overwhelming. But what was to be done? If Q couldn't recover it, then who could?

Bond sat down and took a breath. He would have to be the one to explain everything to M. This was not going to be easy. He'd have to be completely honest with him; it would mean coming out to M. That would be an awkward conversation indeed. Bond sighed and looked at his watch. They had spent the majority of the day in bed and it was close to the time when M usually left for the day. If Bond was quick, he could catch him.

Bond heaved another sigh and decided to take his lumps. He put on his suit jacket and checked himself in his armoire mirror. On the outside, he looked cool and confident; on the inside, he felt miserable and weak.

As he made his way down the corridor toward the lift, he attempted to put a speech together in his head: "Here's the thing, M..." "What you need to understand is..." "M, I'm in love-." Nothing he tried sounded good.

With every floor that went by, the knot in Bond's stomach got tighter and tighter. He didn't want to screw this up any more than he had already done. He needed to explain to M why his precious program would probably never see the light of day and he needed to win Q back. Of all the missions Bond had been sent on in his career, this had to be the one with the most riding on it.


	30. Chapter 30

Q raced down to programming in Q Branch. If he could access the mainframe from a hard-wired terminal there was a shred of hope that he may be able to search in the recently deleted files for the code file. He hoped to God that he wasn't completely out of his mind thinking that this option was possible.

Normally, when a delete command is given, there's an option to recover what was discarded. But Bond had used a different type of command, one he must have seen used on missions where files had to be irrevocably destroyed. Q had nearly had a heart attack when Bond told him the command. As he sat at the terminal, Q wanted to vomit. Almost a year's worth of work with five men on the job... There was no way Q could do it all alone. He would be typing code for five years.

He called up the recovery program and frantically typed in various commands that would pull up the junk and discarded files. His screen was filled instantly with all sorts of arbitrary detritus that a vast intelligence organization like MI6 would produce and then throw out. Most of it was fragments of programs, hunks of code for which there was no working application. The trouble Q faced was that all were encrypted and none of them had clear labels. He would have to go into each and every one, decrypt it, and determine if it was the code he sought or not.

There were 1,459 files discarded just today.

Q felt sick again, but opened the first one that had the time stamp that he felt was close to the time when Bond destroyed his life.

No. That wasn't fair. Q knew that Bond hadn't meant to destroy him. He just wanted the program gone in order to get out of his babysitting duties. Of course, Bond claimed it was for the best, that destroying the program would end any war that might spring up because of it, and he had a point, but Q knew the real reason: Bond just wanted out.

"We belong to one another," Bond had said. Q felt sick for another reason entirely. The bastard. Bond had had his bit of fun and now he was done. He belonged in the field. He was useless at home and underfoot. Bond knew it. M knew it. And Q knew it too. What sickened Q the most was that he was just one more plaything of James Bond. It was the very thing he was trying to avoid this whole time. Q kicked himself for allowing himself this weakness. He should have shoved Bond away at the first sign, but he didn't. Stupid fucking hormones.

Q waited for the seventeenth file to decrypt. This was tedious, but it was the only thing he could do that would make him feel more in control. Around Bond, he felt loose, jangled, unsteady. It wasn't fair.

"Hello, Q," said M. Q spun around in his chair. "Feeling better, I take it?" he said, smiling mildly at him.

Q forced a grin to his face. "Yes. Just getting everything organized."

"I see," said M, glancing at the computer behind Q. "Is that why you're running a decryption on a junk file?"


	31. Chapter 31

Q swallowed past his dry throat. "I- I was just..." Q stammered. He wasn't a very smooth liar when he was taken off guard.

M raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're alright? When Bond rang this morning, he said you were a nervous wreck in need of rest." M pulled up a chair and sat beside Q. "What's going on, Q?"

Q saw the look of concern in his eyes. He had barely had time to realize that it was only that morning that he and Bond had... Q shook his head. "I'm just tired, M," said Q. "I'll be fine. Thank you." M nodded but his face still held worry. M inclined his head toward the terminal and without saying a word, managed to repeat his question. Q sighed. This was it. He had to tell the director MI6 what happened to the ultra-secret, highly dangerous program that had been almost a year in the making.

Q opened his mouth to speak and Bond interjected: "It's all my fault, M."

Q spun around and M looked up. Bond, slightly out of breath, stood in the doorway of the programming room.

"What's all your fault?" asked M.

"The code," said Bond, "It's been deleted."

M leaned back in his chair slowly. He was stunned but doing his level best to keep his temper. "Explain yourself, 007," said M in a cold tone.

Bond looked helplessly at Q who looked as though he were going to be sick. "I thought the program dangerous, so I deleted it," said Bond.

"Did you?" asked M crossing his arms. "And on who's authority did you perform this noble and selfless act?"

"On mine," said Q suddenly, his heart in his throat. Both men looked at the quartermaster. "I'm sorry, M, but Bond's right. It's best if no one has it."

"And that's why you're decrypting the deleted files? To see if your act of treason is complete?" asked M.

"Treason?" asked Q, turning white.

"M, that's a bit harsh," said Bond.

"And yet," said M coolly," completely appropriate. What you two have done is an act of sabotage against this nation's national defense. That's treason any way you slice it."

No words were spoken for some minutes. The quiet hum of office activity swirled about them but none of the three took any notice. Each man was lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Q spoke up: "Unless..." M and Bond looked at him. "Well," he continued, realizing that all eyes were on him, "Unless I were able to recover it from the deleted encrypted files."

M looked from Bond to Q. He stood and said," For the sake of both your futures, I certainly hope you can." He left them to their fates without another word.


	32. Chapter 32

"Why did you do that?" asked Bond as the watched Q frantically check the decrypted codes.

"Because someone of intelligence had to say something to save your skin," said Q.

"I thought you hated me," said Bond.

Q looked directly into his face and said, "Oh, but I do. I think you're an oaf and a liar. Doesn't mean I want our best agent sent to prison. What fun would that be for me? At this moment in time, I think that a shooting at dawn or a yardarm hanging would be too good for you. Personally, I'd like you to suffer a bit longer than that." He blinked and went back to his computer.

Bond hung his head a bit. He had been an oaf. He had not thought his actions though properly.

Feeling out of place, he decided to relegate himself to the far corner of the room where he could see both Q and the door. Bond thought that all he was missing was the dunce cap to complete the image. He bit back his anger and self-loathing and tried to focus on the exit sign above the door. There was nothing for him to do but pray that Q could come through on recovering the code. If he couldn't, it meant not only their careers, it meant their freedom and possibly their lives.

Q searched file after file, his eyes going crossed with all the lines of code he had to untangle. When one part looked familiar, his heart leapt - only to discover that the code wasn't long enough or that it veered off to perform a different function. Each failure compounded the twist in his gut.

Three hours and one hundred and eighty-three files later, he found it.

At first, Q didn't move a muscle. But he soon snapped out of his stunned silence and checked and double-checked. He wasn't dreaming. It was there - intact.

Q stole a casual glance toward Bond. The agent had closed his eyes. Q had never known him to be so inattentive; technically 007 was still on the job.

Q turned back to the computer and thought about how he wanted to handle this. He was angry at Bond and hurt by him. Bond's excuse to wipe the code was noble, but stupid. He didn't consider all the consequences. Q also hated himself. He couldn't believe he was taken in by Bond. He had to have realized that Bond would try to get out of this assignment in some way, but he didn't think that he was capable of doing something so obviously stupid and destructive. Although... Q should have taken a hint from all the times when his field equipment came back damaged - or not at all.

Q was sick of cleaning up Bond's messes. He was sick of Bond. Q moved the file back to the proper sub-folder and for extra insurance, saved the entire file to a spare external hard drive. If Bond attempted something else stupid, at least Q wouldn't have to start from scratch.

Q closed down the station. He packaged up the external hard drive in a hard case and planned on delivering it to M in the morning. Q threw one more glance at Bond and made his way to the lift. Bond could find his way back on his own. Nothing was going to happen to Q while he was in the heart of MI6.

Pressing the button for the sub-basement, he belatedly realized that the lift was going up. He grimaced and leaned back against the car wall. The man beside him seemed familiar somehow, but Q couldn't place him. He nodded at him. The man nodded back and smiled. Q glanced over his shoulder and realized that the camera in the corner of the lift had been tampered with. It was removed completely. He started toward it in his shock. He made it half way across the car before the man struck him in the side of his head with something heavy. Q fell to the floor, unconscious.


	33. Chapter 33

Bond watched with slitted eyes when he heard Q's footsteps retreat from his station. He saw Q glance back at him and remained motionless. Q had something in his hand, but Bond didn't know what it was. He got to his feet and followed Q. He knew all Q would do was give him another tongue-lashing if he were to follow too close.

He saw Q enter the lift at a distance. There was one other man in the car with him as the doors closed. Deciding to give Q some much-needed space, he pressed the call button for the other lift to take him down to the sub-basement and wait for Q there. When the lift doors opened, he didn't see Q's familiar form ahead of him in the corridor. Bond swallowed hard and dove back into the lift. He pressed the door open button and quickly moved to the other lift door -- the one he had seen Q enter. Pressing his ear to the metal, he could hear the mechanism running. Q had gone up instead of down.

Bond raced back inside his lift and pressed the level that would take him to M's office. It would be just like Q to have such a strop and not tell him that he had recovered the code and was going to tell M personally. Son of a bitch, but that man could be stubborn and cruel.

The seconds ticked by and seemed like hours. Mercifully, the doors opened and Bond made his way swiftly to M's office. It was locked. Moneypenny was gone for the evening and M had clearly gone home as well. There was no sign of Q.

Where else could Q have gone? He wouldn't dare leave MI6. Would he?

Security. They would have the answer. There were more cameras in London than any other city in the world but MI6's security cams made London's CCTV look like a shopkeeper's behind-the-counter model. Bond dove back into the lift and headed toward security.

He flashed his credentials at the men and women in the surveillance room. There were several rooms like this on this floor, but this room in particular was the only one used to monitor movements inside MI6. "Show me the lift cams from the last twenty minutes. Corridor C off of Q Branch," said Bond. The main screen display lit up with a split screen for both lifts: one that showed normal lift activity, the other showed a black screen. "What the hell happened there?" asked Bond.

"Cam in that lift is down for maintenance," said one of the agents.

"And the lift was still allowed to operate?" asked Bond incredulously.

"Well," said the agent, "We did ask about that as protocol is that we shut it down, but word came down to still use it, so we did. No use holding everyone up for a camera."

Bond felt the room spin slightly. Shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, he got a hold of his anger. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Who gave this order? And when?" he asked.

"Um," said the agent, bending over a monitor, "Order came from Q Branch this morning. It says Quartermaster OK'd it. Why? Is there something wrong?"


	34. Chapter 34

Bond was angry enough to spit nails. "Did you think to double-check the order?" he asked slowly, feeling his blood pressure rise.

"Well..." said the agent, clearly out of his depth. He looked far too young to be doing this - and far too incompetent to do anything well. "Frankly, no."

Bond nodded and asked another agent at a terminal in front of him: "I need to track the Quartermaster's last movements from about twenty minutes ago. Can you follow him from Q Branch Programming to the lifts?" She offered him a curt nod and found the time he was looking for. There was Q with that mysterious case in his hand. He saw Q give him a glance backward and move toward the lift. The camera followed him and captured him pressing the call button. The lift that Q entered clearly indicated that it was going up, but Q boarded it anyway. The corridor cam also captured the moment when Q realized his mistake. It also managed to display the face of the other man in the lift with Q. "Freeze that," said Bond. The agent complied. "I want to know who that man is in the lift with the Quartermaster. Find out." The agent nodded her head at him once more and her fingers flew over keyboard and mouse trying to crop and clean up the image for identification purposes.

"You," said Bond, pointing to a security agent in the corner, "Announce an immediate shut down of all of MI6: no one gets in, no one gets out. My orders." The agent snapped to full attention and hit the wireless receiver at his ear. He gave 007's orders over and a klaxon sounded throughout the building.

Over the alarm came a disturbingly calm female voice which announced: "Warning: this building is being shut down for security reasons. Please remain calm and stay at your stations. This facility is completely shut down until further notice. Thank you." Part of the shut down involved the closing and sealing of all exterior doors and the shutting down of all lifts. Bond knew that this was the only way to contain Q in the building if he was indeed kidnapped. Of course, it had been twenty minutes since Q had disappeared from his sight; anything could have happened to him in that time. Bond's gut twisted at the thought of losing Q.

His worry turned to anger as he said to the team: "I want to see all images from the past twenty-five minutes of all exits, major and minor. We are looking for the Quartermaster. If he has left the building inside the last twenty minutes, i want to know when, where, and in who's company. GO!"

A phone rang. The young incompetent agent answered it and Bond was tempted to wrest it from his hands and deal with it himself. Instead he waited and listened as the man said: "Oh! Hello, sir! ... Yes... yes we did. Um... agent 007 did, sir.... yes... yes he's here. One moment." The agent held out the phone to Bond and whispered, "It's M."

Bond picked up the receiver and without waiting for M to even utter hello, said brusquely: "M, we have a situation. Q is missing inside of MI6. We still believe him to be on the premises. He's only been gone for about twenty-six minutes. I had the facility placed on lock down and we're searching all the tapes for any sign of him-"

"Found him, sir!" said another agent on the other side of the room.

"One moment, M," said Bond as he set the phone down and moved to the agent who's screen was displaying what appeared to be the back of Q's head. He was wearing a different coat, but the man he was with was the same one from the lifts, that much was clear. They were headed out the south-facing exits and off into the city. The time stamp gave them a ten minute head start. "Gotcha," said Bond.


	35. Chapter 35

Q awoke to a ringing in his ears and a throbbing head. There was a damp smell in the air and he tilted his head when it registered. Fire bloomed in his brain and his eyes flew open wide in surprise. "Ah!" he cried, "Jesus..." He attempted to raise his hand to his head and started when he realized that his arm was arrested in the motion. Q looked down at his hand. He was handcuffed to a desk, each hand cuffed independently of the other, the chain long enough for him to reach halfway to his face, but no further. The table he was secured to was stainless steel and contained a computer and the hard drive he had been holding. The hard drive was hooked up and dumping its contents into the laptop.

"Finish it," said a voice. Q turned his head to see the face of the speaker.

The room swam when the wave of pain hit him. He felt a gun at his temple. Someone was breathing heavily. It took Q a second to realize that it was him. "What do you want?" Q asked. It was a stupid question, but Q needed to buy time to gather his wits about him.

"Finish it," said the man again. The gun pressed deeper into his head.

"That hurts," said Q as the ringing in his ears persisted. His eyes scanned the room. Cement walls, no windows, no door that he could see, one chair, one table: it was as sparse as sparse could be. Q caught a glint of something at his elbow. There was a searing pain across his arm. "Gah!" he said and looked to see a gash cut in his arm. It was deep enough to bleed, but not so deep as to cut muscle or sinew. "What the fuck?!" exclaimed Q.

"Finish. It," said the man slowly. Q's eyes drifted to the screen and his hands began to type automatically. He stopped. No. He couldn't betray his country like this. He had to show some form of resistance. The butt of the knife came down on his head, the pain almost causing him to wretch. Q attempted to look at his assailant once more and through a squinted eye saw that he was dark-haired and powerfully built. He could have knocked Q unconscious easily, but he didn't. He needed Q alive and thinking properly in order to program more code for Harbinger. The knife made another appearance and Q decided to not press his luck. After all, he wasn't a field agent. He wasn't Bond.

Bond had withstood tortures that would have had Q begging for death. Quite frankly, he didn't know how Bond had pushed himself like that. All he knew was that Bond was much stronger and better trained and had more experience with this than he. Q could topple governments with a few keystrokes; Bond could stare down the devil.

But Q was not without some resilience. He intentionally began to type in bad code to see if the Neanderthal behind him would notice. A smart rap on his head a minute later told him that the man knew his way around a computer terminal. This was not good. He deleted the lines of code without being told and began again, this time typing legitimate code to complete the project.

If only he had a hint as to where he was, he could try and get a message to Bond somehow. He and Bond may be on the outs, but neither of them wanted to see Harbinger completed and in the hands of this lunatic, whomever he may be. Exactly how that message would be sent was currently a mystery to Q, but he would try nevertheless. Once the ringing in his ears stopped, that is. It was somehow rhythmic and completely unrelenting. He shut his eyes for a brief second. That helped the throbbing, but not the ringing. Shame.

As Q typed along, he decided to try conversation, either as a distraction or as a means to discern just who this man is and who he is working for. "You were very clever in capturing me," he began. The man remained silent. "But you're not the one from the lift, are you? No... that bloke was just a fellow conspirator. You're the computer expert here to keep me on track and see that I don't type anything self-destructive into the system." The silence continued. There was only the clicking of the keyboard keys as Q kept typing as he spoke.

"Still... you couldn't have programmed her, you know," said Q. "You obviously haven't the skill." He didn't really know where he was going with this. All he knew was: the longer he took to type up the code, the longer he would get to live, and the longer he was giving Bond to find him.


	36. Chapter 36

Nothing Q was saying had any effect. The man remained silent the entire time. No amount of insult, cajoling, or threat was making any headway. The man would only thump him when his hands stopped working or when he attempted to type in bad code. It was all for naught. It was almost as if the only words the man knew were "Finish it," because that's all he seemed to say to Q every time he got a thump.

A few hours passed like this, each minute that ticked by seemed an eternity. Inwardly, Q prayed that Bond had his scent and was hot on the trail. He was the only help Q seemed to have. But even that thought was discouraging. After all, hadn't he told Bond that he wanted him to suffer? Bond could be thinking that this was some type of elaborate strop Q was having. Perhaps the agent thought Q's disappearance meant that he was taking the piss out of the spy. God, Q hoped not. That could mean that Bond hadn't even began to look for him.

Q shook the thought away and continued to type. The day he had lost to Bond's... what were they? Affections? No. Bond was anything but affectionate. Still... There was a niggling sense that Q was mistaken about Bond's motives. Q put his hands on auto-pilot and allowed his memory to drift back to just that morning when Bond had kissed his bruised back and side. The kisses were tender, almost reverent. Was that true affection? Or was it feigned? Q supposed that if Bond assumed that Q had just ran off to make his life difficult, then Q could safely assume that Bond was faking all of the comfort and passion of their day together. After all, if he was faking, then he couldn't possibly be overly-concerned after Q only being missing for... how long had it been? Q had no idea.

Panic clutched at Q's chest as he realized that this could possibly be the last room he'd ever see. If he finished the program before Bond had a chance to wake up and discover that he hadn't been joking... It was over. Q stamped down his nausea and concentrated on the code, typing a fraction slower than before. He didn't earn a thump for this, so he slowed his data entry in minuscule amounts until he received another whomping from his jailer. Pain and dizziness mingled for quite a few minutes as Q resumed typing; he began quick, but soon slowed to a mediocre pace that the guard wouldn't smack him for.

The other disadvantage to having the man within whomping distance was that he couldn't see behind him; he couldn't turn his head to anywhere that wasn't the laptop screen. Q wasn't given any opportunity to look about the room any more than he had when he first woke up. There just wasn't any clue to his whereabouts from the things he could see. It was distressing.

Metal clanged as a door opened somewhere behind him. He heard a male voice say: "Food."

The guard at his elbow didn't look about or walk away or otherwise acknowledge the second man's presence. Some jam and toast appeared on the table beside the laptop. A glass of water sat beside it. Q didn't dare look for fear of another thumping, but took one of the toast slices, bent himself over double to put it to his mouth, and chewed on it. His brain gave a warning of possible poison, but Q quickly concluded that if they intended to kill him before the program was complete, they would have a hell of a time completing said program. As he fed himself, he typed with one hand as best he could.

After a few more hours and about two hundred and fifty lines of code later, Q was making more and more mistakes in his typing; he was exhausted.

The gun was back at his temple and the guard said: "Save it to the external hard drive." Q complied and a large hand came over the laptop screen and closed it.

Suddenly, there was a black bag over Q's head and something was injected into his arm. "Eight hours rest. Then back to work."


	37. Chapter 37

The man from the lift had vanished. Bond checked and re-checked all the surveillance equipment on the inside and outside of the building. There was footage of him leaving with Q, footage of him walking outside with the same man and turning right. Normally, that would place him within twenty paces of another round of cameras - including one at a cash machine across the street - but there was no one on the screen. The man simply disappeared into thin air.

Q had been missing for fifty minutes now and M was standing behind Bond. "Agents outside have searched the whole building and can find no trace of this man or Q," said M. "What do we know about him?"

"Terry Murphy," said Bond. "Irish nationalist. Terrorist. Had a hand in blowing up a school back in '88."

"Delightful. What do the Irish want with Harbinger? This doesn't sound like them at all," said M.

"Probably because it wasn't the Irish," said Bond. "Murphy's gone merc. He works for anyone who will bid high enough. These days, that could mean the Chinese, Iraquis, Iranians, whomever."

M pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's got to be a clue as to where this guy got to with Q."

Bond had an epiphany. He turned to the surveillance agent who controlled the camera image analysis. "Let me see Q again." The screen popped up with the quartermaster being hustled out of the building wearing a coat that was about two sizes too big for his frame. "Slow it down," said Bond, "frame by frame. And center it on Q."

"What do you see?" asked M.

"Mmm," said Bond. "It's what I don't see."

"Then what don't you see?" said M. He was peering at the image as if to will Bond's answer into his own brain before the agent could speak.

"That's not Q," said Bond definitively.

M looked at him. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Positive," said Bond. "Q had a small bruise on the back of his neck. This man has no bruise. See?" He pointed to where the mark should have been.

"How did Q get bruised there?" asked M to no one in particular.

Bond knew that he had put it there himself, either through a kiss or a nibble, or perhaps one of his fingers digging a bit too deeply. In any case, it wasn't on this man's neck. And Bond wasn't about to answer M's question even though he knew the answer. Instead he said: "Wrong question, M."

"Oh?" said M. "And what's the right question?"

"If that's not Q," said Bond, pointing at the stranger on the screen. "Then where the hell did they take him?"


	38. Chapter 38

"Tampered with," said M. Bond brought his head up. He was seated at M's desk and had been studying the blueprints of HQ's building trying to find a secure hiding place to stash a quartermaster. M held out tubes of plastic and electronics that looked like the ends of the surveillance cameras outside. "They fit them over the original camera lenses so that to the naked eye, the camera looked normal, but they would project an image of the same streets and alleys with normal foot traffic - prerecorded. Security's doing a sweep of the entire building now." He sat heavily in his chair. "We are MI6 and we've been compromised on at least four different levels, my quartermaster is missing, and now Harbinger's at risk."

"So you're having a bad day," said Bond. Guessing at which drawer would hold what he was looking for, he got it on the second try. He pulled out a bottle of 25-year single malt and two glasses. "Here," he said. "Have a drink."

"Please don't get me wrong," began M. "It's not that I don't care about Q. I do. He's the best at what he does." M took a sip of the whiskey. "It's just that ever since his clever little brain came up with and decided to create Harbinger, the program has become more important that its creator." He took another drink and pointed at Bond. "Which, by the way, is something I do not like." He sat for a moment and stared at the amber liquid, stirring it around gently in the glass. "You were right to try and destroy it, Bond."

Bond raised an eyebrow. "You're talking treason, M."

M chuckled sadly. "No... you were right to put the needs of the many ahead of the few. Should Harbinger find its way into the wrong hands..." M shook his head. "And should our wonderful government decide that Harbinger should be turned into a premeditative weapon as opposed to a preventative means of protection and a precursor to proper investigation -- or worse yet: should it be turned on its own people! Disastrous. Just disastrous."

"What's going to happen then?" asked Bond.

"What do you mean?" asked M.

"Let's think positively. We get Q and Harbinger back, no harm done. What then?" asked Bond. "Does Q complete Harbinger and we have the sword of Damocles hanging over our heads for the rest of our nation's existence? Or do we lock it up and never use it and pray that the world at large doesn't find out that we're sitting on this technology? The Americans alone would have a fit."

M sighed. "You're right, Bond." M's head snapped up. "That's it. The thing gets binned. All traces erased. Too many people have died over this. Too many more people want it. Of Q and the four others that were helping him, two are confirmed dead, and now Q is missing. Enough is enough."

"Varguese and Singh?" asked Bond.

M nodded. "Gone. Found out this afternoon. I wanted to tell you today, but as Q was ill..." M took another big sip of his whiskey and set down the empty glass. "I'll meet with the Prime Minister tomorrow morning. We'll discuss the tragedy that befell the Harbinger project: it simply doesn't test. It doesn't work. In the meantime, 007: you look for Q. Find him and Harbinger." He stood and made to leave. At the door he said: "Burn down the goddamned building if you have to, James. I need my quartermaster more than the world needs Harbinger."

"My sentiments exactly, M," said Bond and he resumed scouring the blueprints once more.


	39. Chapter 39

Q awoke to a bucket of cold water being dumped all over him. "Wake up!" shouted his guard. The cold was followed by the sting of a hard slap across his face. And then another. Q opened his groggy eyes to find that he was still confined to the chair. The black bag over his head had been removed and his chair was angled ninety degrees from where it once stood, the table on his left. His wrists were still bound by the long manacles, but they were attached to the chair instead of the table. His vision was fuzzy so he couldn't make out the rest of the room, just the grey of the concrete walls and floors.

Another hard slap came and Q braced for it. He couldn't see the man in front of him clearly and at first Q thought the drug they gave him had affected his eyesight, but then he realized that they had simply removed his glasses before rousing him. He was dripping cold and shivered as he said, "A-alright... alright! I'm awake. I'm here."

The man came forward and pushed his wet hair back with a rough towel. He placed Q's glasses on his face and swung his chair about so that he faced the table once more. The laptop was set up as it had been before and Q knew what was going to happen before it did: the man put a gun to his head and said: "Finish it."

This time Q didn't argue. He heaved a sigh and began to type. He shook his head to clear it and the room swam for a moment. The drug they used was clearly still in his system. He only hoped that between this moment of wakefulness and the next time they injected him, his body would have time to shake it. If not, the more they dosed him, the sloppier his work would get and the more they would abuse him. Q swallowed past his cottonmouth and focused on the screen.

As he typed, he moved his jaw about. It was still smarting from where he was struck. He let his tongue trace over his lip and sucked in a breath when the skin stung; his lip was split and bleeding. Terrific.

"So," said Q, feeling a bit angry from the rude way he had been treated, "is there breakfast? Or am I on one meal a day?" His answer came in the form of a smack over the head. This was getting tedious. Q figured at the rate he had been typing - which wasn't his fastest, but was as slow as he could get away with - he would have the code completed for testing inside of the next ten days. If they pushed him and he typed the fastest he could at optimum health and concentration, he would have it completed inside the next seven days. And then they would kill him. He basically had a week to ten days to live.

Q did his best to steady his breathing and thought about the situation. They weren't adverse to killing people to get what they wanted; Q assumed that Varguese and Singh were already dead and gone. But they couldn't kill him. Q was the only one who knew enough about how the completed program was supposed to function. They couldn't afford to damage his mind in any way. Nor could they really damage his hands. But the rest of Q was forfeit. They could use him as a punching bag all day long. Of course, the code wouldn't get typed while Q was being beaten. And then there was recovery time. Should they cause so much damage that Q lost consciousness or fainted, they would have to revive him and get him stable enough to be able to type again. But they couldn't kill him. They couldn't beat him so badly that he would die.

If Q were to stop typing right now, they would smack him in the head, once, maybe twice, and hard. But what then? More beatings? Until what? Until Q was unable to sit up straight? They could cut his arm again, but even that they had managed to patch up while he slept: a nice white bandage was placed over the cut they had given him. They couldn't cut him so much that he lost too much blood. They couldn't risk that.

Only one question remained in Q's mind: was he brave enough to do what must be done? There was only one way to find out.

Q stopped typing and waited.


	40. Chapter 40

They reacted as he had predicted. But the slaps turned to closed fists as Q continued to resist. Q's glasses came off on one particularly hard punch and landed unharmed on the table. Q spit out the blood that gathered in his mouth and said: "I'm afraid that I'm done doing your bidding."

"We will kill you," said the guard. His bald head had a sheen of sweat on it that Q could see under the florescent lighting even without his glasses.

"You can't," said Q, simply. "I'm the only one who can help you at all. And I'm afraid I refuse."

"We'll see," he said. He disappeared behind Q. Q heard the clanging of a metal door and it was just a few minutes later when he came back with a heavy leather strap about two inches wide with a buckle end and placed it heavily on the table. He also placed a large wooden pole on the table; it was about four feet in length. He turned Q's chair violently and kicked it over, so that Q was on his back with his feet in the air. Q's head sang with the impact on the hard concrete floor. Before he could respond, the guard had the leather strap about his shins and was securing his legs tight to the flat piece of metal that was welded to the front legs of the chair. Judging by the construction of the chair, the kidnappers had estimated some resistance by Q.

Once his lower legs were secure to the chair, Q felt the man unlace his shoes and remove his socks. He leaned over Q with the staff in his hands. "You will work for us," said he, "Or you will suffer." Q squirmed and tried to reach for the man, but he backed away too quickly. With no preamble, Q felt a searing blast of pain stem from the exposed soles of his feet. The next swift blows of the cane were drowned out by Q's screams.

There was a funny thing about pain: it causes one to truly focus. With every blinding scream of torture that shot up from his feet, Q gained a stronger focus on the one thing - the only thing - that distracted him from his agony: Bond. He remembered the first time they had sex; Bond's kisses over his bruises meant so very much. The look in Bond's eyes when he watched Q enjoying his body, memorizing the feel of his skin, tasting his mouth... In these brief flashes, Q saw again Bond's sincerity: his care in making his tea and knowing exactly how he liked it; he even vaguely recalled Bond snugging the duvet closer around his body as he drifted off to sleep. There was no way Bond wasn't sincere in these moments. That was all James. There was no pretense, no falsehood. And right now, in this moment, there was no way that James Bond wasn't looking for him. And knowing 007 and his resourcefulness, Q had no doubt that Bond would find him soon. More than that, whatever these men had managed to do to Q, Bond would return the favor - and then some. All Q had to do was to hold out. They couldn't kill him. They could only hurt him. And right now, the pain they were inflicting became his ally. Every cry of pain, every raging white-hot smack of the cane only brought James Bond closer and closer to Q's mind, his memory of him becoming clearer and clearer until there was no pain - there was only James. Eventually Q even forgot to scream.

Q sputtered and coughed as another bucket of water was thrown over him. The chair was set back upright and for the second time in just a few hours, Q faced that blinking cursor. His glasses were replaced on his face and the gun reappeared against his head. "Finish it."

His entire body ached. His feet went beyond throbbing; he didn't even want to look at them. He was sure he couldn't walk. His face was swollen and if he were able to easily touch his face, he would have found his skin warm to the touch. Yet he still refused to help them. But they still thought they had power. It was the funniest thing Q had ever come across. Q did the only thing he could do: he laughed. He laughed loudly and for a long long time. He laughed so long, in fact, he wasn't sure that he wasn't going insane. The back of the guard's hand struck him. "Are you still refusing to cooperate?" he asked.

"Jesus, man," said Q, barely containing his laughter. "Are you stupid? Of course I refuse! Moron! Do what you will. I won't give in. You do not have any power over me." His wounded face held a devilish grin. He sing-songed: "And I know something you don't know."

"What's that?" asked the guard, clearly shocked by the quartermaster's behavior.

Q stopped laughing and looked at the man through an eye that was swelling around his vision. He said, "My boyfriend is coming to kill you."


	41. Chapter 41

"I need three teams," said Bond as he walked into M's office the next morning.

M was just putting on his coat to go call on the Prime Minister. "You've got whatever you need, 007. Have you located him?"

"Not exactly," said Bond. "There are only three places in the building where he could be."

"Which is why you need three teams," said M. Bond nodded. "Right. Moneypenny will get you set up. I'm off to Number Ten."

"Good luck," said Bond.

"What? Lying to the most powerful politician in Great Britain?" said M. "Do it every day." And with that, he left his office.

Moneypenny was able to generously provided two more double-oh's for the mission. It seemed she was fond of Q too. Bond would lead one four-man team, 006 and 002 would each have their own. They would recon at Q Branch inside one hour if they found nothing. The team that didn't show up in an hour would be backed up by the other two. That made twelve agents - three of them with licenses to kill - out looking for the missing quartermaster.

Bond and his team headed to the sub-basement levels via the stairs. Staircases were monitored, but less so than the lifts. Their journey was silent, each agent focused and on high alert for unusual faces or activity. Once they had obtained the first sub-level, Bond took point with the others behind and they moved swiftly for the maintenance wing along the far end of the building.

The maintenance crews were hard at work checking all the cameras in HQ, so the team didn't expect to run into too many people here. There were other rooms down in this wing that had been closed off when HQ was refitted in the seventies. Bond wondered why they weren't included on the modern plans for the building when he did his research. He figured that even at his level of clearance, there would always be something happening at MI6 that would be locked away. If Bond dwelt on the subject overlong, it would have made him nauseous.

As it was, Bond was too keyed up to think about secrets locked away in MI6. The only thing that concerned him now was getting Q back. He allowed himself one split second of memory flash about Q and his vision was filled with the mop-haired genius smiling at him with his goofy grin. God, he wanted to kiss that face again.

The team moved stealthily through maintenance, checking room after room with a hard sweep of hands around weapons. Nothing was showing up. It was eerily quiet the more they traversed this section of HQ: Bond could hear the faint dripping of a pipe and the soft crunch and shuffle of some of the team member's footsteps. As they turned the final corner on the modern blueprints Bond had committed to memory, one of the team made a signal as though he heard something. Each man clung to the walls, weapons up. It could be just one of the maintenance staff on a break. It could be one of the men who took Q. They had to be ready for any eventuality.

Footsteps were getting closer. The movement was casual, not wary. Most likely this was not danger, but Bond was alert anyhow. He backed further into the concrete wall, a large vent shaft at his right side. He heard the metal creak a split second before all the lights went out.


	42. Chapter 42

He awoke to having a bucket of cold water dumped on him. His wrists were bound to a strong hook in the concrete ceiling, his ankles bound to a respective hook embedded in the floor. His shoes and socks were off and through his bleary eyesight, Bond could see them in a pile in the corner to his left. His head rang as he felt hands holding his hips steady. Bond struggled against his bonds, but they were too tight. Any effort to break them was useless.

Another man came around to face him. He wore a mask, but Bond could tell by his eyes that it was Murphy. Without preamble, Murphy began laying punches into his midsection, eliciting grunts from Bond as the air was forced out of his lungs. Eventually it seemed the man was tiring of his efforts and disappeared behind Bond. Bond took a moment to study the hook above his head. It was thick and solid, but was screwed into an anchor which was embedded in the concrete. The hook at his feet showed the same. He had no time to act upon this new information, however as Mr. Murphy had plans of his own.

Murphy was showing Bond the blade of a knife. He knew from his training that there were three reasons that people brandished knives instead of guns: practical reasons (it made more sense to carry a knife in inhospitable climes); mad reasons (the wielder really liked blood and mess); or intimidation reasons (a knife was proven to be much more threatening in appearance and so would render higher positive results in interrogations than any other weapon). Bond guessed that Murphy was more the intimidation type.

Neither man spoke as Murphy sliced Bond's arm. Had Bond borne witness to it, he would have remarked that both he and Q would have matching scars. As it was, all Bond saw was an act of bravado. He wasn't going to give Murphy an inch.

"What the fuck do you want, Murphy?" Bond asked coolly.

Murphy seemed to smile under his mask. "Cooperation," he said.

"I will never cooperate with you on anything," said Bond.

"Oh no," said Murphy. "Not from you, agent. From your boyfriend." He pointed the tip of his knife at a camera on a tripod just behind Bond and to the right. Bond craned his neck backward over his shoulder to see it. "Now be a good boy," continued Murphy, "and scream really loudly."

Bond felt the searing pain of the knife edge as it cut through the cloth of his trousers and into the skin at the back of his thigh. He jerked with the pain, but did not cry out.

Murphy smiled. He knew it didn't matter if Bond called out or not. This was a visual aid only. There was no way he would allow Bond to speak to Q. He passed the knife over to one of his men and went down the corridor to watch the quartermaster squirm. He would have his fucking code, goddamn it. There was no happy ending for either of these men if he didn't.


	43. Chapter 43

Q couldn't believe his eyes as he stared at the split-screen display on the television they had brought in. Four agents were being tortured - and one of them was Bond. All were either chained to chairs as he was or they were hanging from the ceiling like dancing sides of beef. It was horrible. Q could see Bond twisting and turning around and around grimacing in pain with every slice of the knife. Q could also see Murphy watching Q closely for his reaction. When Q was at Uni, he was told by his colleagues that he had better not play poker with any of them as he had the best poker face they had ever seen. Q desperately hoped that the poker face he was using right now as he saw his James cut and punched over and over was the best that Murphy had ever seen.

The gun was back against his head. "Finish it," said Murphy. "Or we will finish them. All of them."

As if by some primal intuition, Bond looked right into the camera. Whatever they had him suspended by, he had twisted himself around to face the lens and was trying to say something to Q but there was no sound. The camera was just the visual with no audio, so whatever Bond said, Q had to lip read. The quartermaster thought he made out the words "Don't do it!". He was cut off by a punch to his liver. Bond made another revolution with the beating he was receiving and shouted at the camera again "Don't give up, Q!"

Q heard the gun cock and felt it jab into his temple. "Finish it." Bond was bleeding from multiple shallow cuts, sweating profusely, straining at his bonds, and shouting at the camera every time he faced it. Q placed his hands on the keyboard. He wondered how long Bond could hold out. He noticed that the other three agents were getting the same treatment, but they weren't looking at the camera. They seemed to not even be aware of their own surroundings. It was the training; go into your head and let the pain flow over you. It made you less vulnerable. The other three agents were following their training; Bond was not and it made Bond's flailing and efforts to talk to Q stick out like a sore thumb. No poker face in the world could prevent Murphy from noticing Bond reacting more passionately than the others. Q shut his eyes tight and willed Bond to be more stoic. "Finish it!" said Murphy.

Q opened his eyes and daring not even to glance at the television screen, began typing code. He felt the barrel tip disappear. Q's mind raced. "I finish this, you let all four agents go," said Q.

"You finish this," said Murphy, "I run a test. If it passes, then I let the agents go."

"Guarantee me," said Q. "Give me your word." Q risked a glance upward at Murphy.

The thug took a moment and pushed the weapon into Q's head again. "Finish it," he said "and you have my word."

"The torture stops now," said Q. "I'm typing. I'm getting you what you want. The torture stops now."

"The torture stops when I say it stops," said Murphy.

Q stopped typing and glared at him. "Then you'd better kill me and everyone on those cameras," he said. "The torture stops or I give you nothing."

Murphy gave this some thought. He turned to someone behind Q and nodded once. Q watched the screen as all four of the goons stopped in their tracks, placing one hand to their ears. Each man nodded once to the cameras and remained still. Q saw Bond turn to the camera and shout "No! Q! Don't let them have it!" The man in the room with him, gut punched Bond into silence. Q's heart broke as he took one last glimpse of a defeated Bond and went back to typing code.


	44. Chapter 44

Several minutes passed before Bond said, "Something the matter with your camera, mate?" He didn't look at the man when he spoke, but kept staring at the camera. A part of him hoped that Q could still see him; another part of him hoped that Q had missed the whole thing, but even Bond knew that that was too much to hope for. As it was, for his plan to work, Q had to keep typing code even if it meant finishing the program. Bond needed the time.

The beating he had taken took a lot out of him. His cuts were all superficial and would heal with minimal scarring, but the punches to his torso and abdomen had him breathing heavy and perspiring. He hoped that this last desperate gambit would pay off and he could make his way out of this cell and find Q. At this point, he would settle for finding Q and dying in a firefight with him. At least they'd be together.

Bond glanced up at the hook that had held him suspended. He had a half of a thread to go before he had twisted it loose from its anchor in the ceiling. The tosser who was beating him up didn't even seem to notice that all Bond's flailing was headed in an anti-clockwise motion. All he needed was for the idiot to obscure the camera for a few seconds...

"Shut up," said the man.

"Seriously, mate," said Bond. "If something's wrong with that camera and everything you've been doing has been for naught, don't blame me when your superiors bust in and rip you a new one." The prat peered at the camera on its tripod. He didn't move toward it; he just cocked his head like a curious dog, his eyes shifting from the camera to Bond. "Besides," continued Bond, "if you've got my quartermaster and I've been screaming at that camera and he hasn't been able to see or hear me this whole time, I may kill you slowly instead of the quick death I had planned for you." At this, the criminal snickered. "Suit yourself," said Bond with a shrug and fell silent.

Bond didn't have to wait long before the cretin was standing with his chest to the lens trying to peer at the camera controls from above. Bond shook his head at his dumb luck. To have a stupid guard is one thing, but to have this moron not even think his own actions through even though he had plenty of opportunity to consider all the options and repercussions... well, it was a good job that Bond had plans to eliminate him from the gene pool.

He gave it two full seconds before he made the final half twist that caused the hook to fall free. As a natural consequence, Bond also fell the short distance to the ground and as he did, he brought his arms down hard. The hook that was still attached to his chains planted itself in the skull of his captor. The man fell, taking the camera with him and smashing it into a thousand pieces under his ample girth. Bond landed on top of him.

Bond was free, but not finished. He had mere seconds before the others got to him. Pain shot through his arms instantly. He knew he had to raise his arms again so as not to incur further injury to the muscle. Blood had to be re-introduced slowly or the pain would become unbearable and muscle damage permanent. He attempted to move his feet to loosen the bonds there and was successful. He was able to unfasten them from the hook in the floor, and he managed to get his hands free from the hook that was now covered in the blood of his tormentor. Unfortunately, both his feet and hands were encircled at the wrist and ankle by manacles connected by a foot-long chain which could only be opened by a key. Bond made a quick search of the man and discovered a key chain with one key that might be the one he needed. It was a matter of seconds to release his feet, his arms throbbing with the effort, but Bond heard noise coming from the other side of the door. They had come for him.

He searched the man again and came up with a weapon. As quickly as he could, he moved behind the door, his hands propped high on the wall to alleviate his pain. He breathed a sigh of relief as the pain faded and he rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. A key turned in the door. Bond gripped the weapon and slid the safety off. He took a breath and gingerly brought his arms down, aiming his weapon at the door as it slowly opened.


	45. Chapter 45

The recoil from the weapon hurt him more than anything. One of them just nicked his arm with a bullet, but in the end, there were three less baddies to worry about and after a quick search of their pockets, Bond was on the move. He poked his head out into the corridor and drew it back quickly when the bullet whizzed by his ear. He dropped down into a crouch and aimed his weapon down the hallway. It was barely lit and difficult to judge accuracy, but Bond managed to only fire his weapon twice and rendered one more down.

Taking advantage of the cover of his recent firing, he remained hunched over as he moved quickly down the dark passageway. He prayed he was headed in the correct direction and was rewarded with yet more guards heading toward him as he came to the first corner. That was a good sign. Guards didn't guard exits so much as they guarded what was precious. Wherever the enemy was coming from, Bond knew to head in that direction in order to find Q.

Bond didn't recognize the layout of the corridors at first. But as he crouched behind a piece of wall that had been knocked through, it dawned on him that he was in the bit of MI6 that was blocked off after the retrofit. Bullets sang past him as each of the three men took up firing positions in alcoves that could only denote more doors to other chambers. Between the cover and his dwindling supply of bullets, Bond couldn't see a way out besides his eventual capture or death.

One of the men firing had a torch and was signaling one of his compatriots with it. It wasn't Morse code, but another system of communication Bond didn't understand. By this means, the men could speak to one another without Bond being the wiser about their plans. But the torchlight inadvertently provided Bond with a new target. Detritus littered the old section of MI6. Long forgotten desks, chairs, file cabinets, rusted out and falling apart were scattered about at intervals. There were smashed beakers and petri dishes as well. And in the torchlight provided him, Bond spied something he hoped would make all the difference.

Halfway down the corridor he spied a tankard of what once was high-pressure gas. There was no way of telling whether or not it still contained anything, but shooting it seemed like a good idea at the time. If anything, it might interrupt the silent light communication that was happening. Bond aimed the weapon and pulled the trigger. The bullet did its job right enough, but there was no explosion. In the seconds that followed, the light flashed over the tankard and Bond could clearly see that it was methane gas. Why there was a tankard of methane down here was anybody's guess, but judging from the scientific equipment scattered about, it was probably being used for something biologically-minded back in the day.

A new shower of bullets followed Bond's shot and he crouched back beneath the broken wall that served as his only protection. He searched his pockets calmly and came up with an object that could only help his cause - or so he hoped. It was a butane lighter he rummaged from one of the guards he had already killed. Bond lit it and threw it over-handed in the direction of the hole he had rent in the methane tankard.

The resulting explosion was a bit more intense than even Bond had planned for and he was thrown back a little from the blast. Luckily, the majority of him was still behind the wall fragment and so all Bond suffered was a bit of dirt and concrete fragments cast over him. The three men on the other side weren't so fortunate. Bond didn't particularly notice if they had cried out before they died, but as Bond passed their dead and burning bodies, he knew that they probably hadn't the time to fill their lungs to scream their last.

As he made his way further down the corridor, Bond didn't hear much of anything. It seemed Murphy had run out of goons and that was good. Because Bond was just in the mood to fight the man one on one.

And if any harm had come to Q, Bond would see to it that Murphy suffered for a very long time.


	46. Chapter 46

Q didn't look up when the camera went snowy. Truth be told, he didn't even notice. He was too busy typing code as fast as his fingers could fly. But when the dull thud of an explosion occurred, both men in the room stopped what they were doing and looked at each other for an explanation. For his part, Murphy had been watching the code coming across the screen watching for any clever tricks that the quartermaster may have planned. He stared into the upturned face of Q when the sound reached them.

Both men's eyes shot to the video display. The other three agents were all alone, still chained and trussed up. Bond's camera was down.

Q looked back to Murphy, a smile playing across his bruised lips. "Told you," he said.

Murphy gave Q a disgusted look and said, "This changes nothing. Finish it. I'll deal with your faggot boyfriend." He brandished his weapon and left Q's presence. Q couldn't have been more pleased.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. Then, without thinking, he attempted to get his feet out from the strap holding his legs in place. The moment his right foot moved, Q was reminded of the beating he had gotten. He ventured a look downward and saw the purplish-blue bruises that graced his skin. Both of his feet were swollen as well. There was no way he could walk out of here without assistance, but he still had to try.

He stifled a cry of agony as he twisted his legs and pointed his toes in order to slide his legs out from behind the leather strap. After a few moments of nausea-inducing pain, he managed to free one of his legs. This made the strap even more loose around his remaining appendage and its extrication went better than the first. Still, both his feet throbbed.

Q did the only thing that made sense: he put his feet gently up on the table. He relaxed as much as his body would allow and waited for Bond to come and find him.

Gunfire sounded outside his door. It was followed by gunfire further along the corridor outside. A bullet hit the metal door behind him and for the first time, Q realized that he would be able to look behind him. He peered around to look at the door and the sight that greeted his eyes was almost inhuman. There was a door, to be sure. It was a grand thick metal affair; the kind one would see on a submarine, complete with a wheel in the center for locking it. It wasn't locked now, but that's not what disturbed Q the most. It was the babies.

To either side of the door on shelves that ran floor to ceiling, there were jar after jar of what appeared to be human infants. Each one was in a different stage of development and for the longest time Q's brain was trying to soften the blow of what his eyes were seeing by attempting to convince himself that the jars were filled with scientific samples of a porcine nature. There was no way that was really real. Why would anyone...? How could someone - anyone....? It was too much.

Q shook his head and closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the hideous scientific display behind him in favor of a much more pleasant task: waiting for James Bond to come striding through that door and get him the fuck out of there.


	47. Chapter 47

The gunfire from the corridor had stopped and Q opened his eyes. He thought he heard some muffled grunting and prayed that Bond was the one doing the hurting. As it was, Q was in a holding pattern because of his manacled hands, but by God if he could have gotten free and were able to walk out the door, Q would be administering his own brand of punishment to his guard.

The metal door opened with a creak. Q didn't want to turn around for fear of catching sight of the monstrosities against the wall. Granted, the deceased weren't unhealthy examples of human infants, but somehow that made it all the worse. Why would anyone preserve healthy children in jars? It made no sense.

Q heard footsteps on the concrete floor behind him. The footfalls were steady and slow. Q's senses were on high alert until he heard: "Jesus, Q." Q raised his eyes and nearly burst into tears at the sight of Bond. He raised his hands to hold him only to have them come up half-way because of his restraints. Bond bent to him, grabbing his hands and kissing them before moving his mouth to Q's lips. Q grabbed Bond's shirt and held the material in tight fists. Q's lips hurt with the pressure from the kiss, but he didn't care. He opened his mouth and welcomed the taste of James, moaning his pleasure into the agent's mouth.

A full two minutes went by before the kiss was broken long enough for Bond to comment on Q's condition. He looked at his feet and said, "Holy Christ, Geoffrey. What did they do to you?" Gingerly, Bond reached out to brush his fingertips next to the bruising on the underside of Q's feet.

Q sucked in a breath anticipating the pain that would stem from his touch, but none came; Bond's pressure was feather-light and he was careful not to directly touch the damaged skin. Bond looked back at Q with his unanswered question still in his eyes. "It's fine, James," said Q. "I will need some help getting out of here, however. I really don't think I can walk."

Bond raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I don't think you should walk, Geoffrey! I've got to find the keys to your cuffs first, though." Bond turned back to the door and physically jerked with shock at what he saw.

"I have no idea where we are," said Q, "but I swear to God, Satan himself set up shop in this room."

"You're at headquarters, Q," Bond murmured, trying to take it all in.

"I'm- What?" said Q, staring at Bond. "I'm still at headquarters? Where? In the "Mad Scientist Branch"?"

"I'm not joking, Q," said Bond. He looked at his quartermaster. "I'll be just a moment." Bond disappeared and a few seconds later returned with the keys to Q's freedom. He got Q up in his arms and Q grabbed the laptop and the external hard drive, placing them on his abdomen. He wrapped his arms around Bond's neck and tried not to feel humiliated at not getting out of there under his own steam.

"I feel like a fool," said Q.

"Don't," said Bond. "You can't walk. Anyone with eyes could see that. You'll be fine. We have to get you to hospital."

"You need a trip there too, it seems," said Q, taking advantage of his situation and kissing Bond softly on the mouth. He carded a hand through his hair and murmured. "Someone ought to take care of you."

"I'll leave that to you, Geoffrey," said Bond as he gently kissed Q back and headed out of the room Q had come to loathe so very much.

As they turned the corner and headed back up the corridor, Q looked behind them. On the floor, under a sheet, were the boots of a man laying on his back. "Who was he?"

Bond turned back to glance at Murphy. "You mean who IS he..." corrected Bond as he turned back and kept going. "He's alive. And he'll stay that way. I'm not done with him yet."


	48. Chapter 48

They could hear others coming down the corridor and Bond stiffened at first until he heard 004's voice among the din. "Over here," he called as he carried Q along. To the other agents both Bond and Q must have looked like hell warmed over.

004's eyes widened at the sight as she said: "What the hell? Are you alright?"

"Fine," said Bond. "Only my team..."

"They should be in the other rooms along the corridor," said Q. "They were on camera too."

Bond nodded and passed Q along to a well-built agent who had at least 3 inches and 2 stone on Bond. "Take him. Carry him carefully. They've damaged his feet and he may have a concussion." Q didn't say a word but allowed himself one longing look after Bond over the agent's shoulder as he took him away for medical attention. They made a turn in the corridor and Bond disappeared from sight.

004 led the way down the corridor, torch in hand. When they got to Murphy's prone figure, Bond placed a hand on her arm. "That one is mine."

"He's alive?" she asked. Bond nodded. She thought a moment. "He's the one who did Q." It wasn't a question, but she looked to Bond anyway. He nodded. She thought a moment more, waving off all the other agents and giving them perfunctory orders to follow regarding the clean up of all the dead. Finally she turned back to Bond and said: "He's my quartermaster too, you know."

"I'm a bit more... invested than you are, 004," said Bond meaningfully.

As her eyes slowly showed her understanding, she nodded. "Here," she said, handing him a taser, "fry his bollocks off for me."

She turned to go and spotted the door that Q had been held captive in. Bond said, "No, 004. That's mine too."

She nodded toward the doorway with its submarine hatch door. "It's where they had him, eh?" Bond nodded. She nodded back. "Poetic. I like your style, Bond." And she walked down the corridor, leaving Bond and Murphy undisturbed.

Bond heard a low groan come from behind him and his eyes narrowed. He looked at the taser with its full charge and smiled grimly. Glancing backward at the sheet that shifted in the shadows behind him, he thought of how much Q would probably hate what he was about to do. But then, the man had taken abuse from this defecation. Bond chuckled and thought: no... Q would probably do the same. Only he'd be much more creative about it.

Bond gripped the taser firmly and walked slowly toward the figure on the ground.


	49. Chapter 49

Q was not released as quickly as he had hoped, but when he was, he was relegated to a wheelchair with extended leg supports to help his feet. Air casts on both his legs prevented any undue pressure or discomfort and the pills they gave him for the pain did the rest. Q thanked the Maker that most of the doors in MI6 were automatic because as soon as he was medically cleared, he headed straight for M's office.

M knew he had been found. He must have. And he would either be in Q Branch or in his own office. One phone call to Moneypenny was all it took to narrow it down. She opened the office door to him, doing her best not to let the appearance of his bruised and battered face affect her. She wasn't totally successful. But then, neither was M.

"Jesus God," said M as he came around from the other side of his desk to greet Q.

"I'm fine, M," said Q. "I need to talk to you." He glanced back at Moneypenny. "Privately," he added. Without a word, she closed the door.

"What is it?" said M taking a seat sideways on his desk, one knee hitched up, one foot on the floor. His manner was all concern for Q.

"I want to know about the jars," said Q.

"Jars?" said M.

"Yes," said Q. "Where I was -- Where they had me... there were jars... of babies."

"What?" said M. "Did they drug you?"

Q shook his head violently causing his head to throb. "Jesus fucking Christ! I didn't hallucinate them! They were there! Practically a whole wall of preserved infants in fucking jars! I want to know what the hell my government was up to. What it still may be up to! What do you know about this?"

M shook his head and opened his hands in a gesture of goodwill. "I know nothing of what you're talking about, Q," he said helplessly. "But I will find out. Alright?"

Q nodded, relieved. He was glad M had no idea. He gave him a quick visual evaluation just to be sure, but it just validated his instinct about M's answer: the man knew nothing. Excellent. Q might actually sleep tonight. He let out a shaky breath. "I want to know it all," said Q. "I want to know who those children belonged to. DNA test if we have to. They deserve names and a decent burial."

M mutely nodded, his brain hardly comprehending what he was hearing. What the hell was going on?


	50. Chapter 50

It took M three weeks to hunt down the answers. He had Bond and Q in his office when he broke the news. It was the first time either had seen each other in all that time. Bond was looking as dapper as ever, much more calm since Q's recovery. Q healed up nicely, his feet still tender with small stress fractures. He was still in the wheelchair, feet propped up a bit and minus the casts.

The two hadn't discussed much of what went on between them in those few days they spent together; they hadn't the chance. Q was concentrating on his healing and getting rid of every trace of Harbinger. Bond was sent as part of a small contingent from MI6 headquarters to pay final respects to Singh and Varguese in India and clean up whatever loose strings there were on Harbinger. They both had their tasks and they did them without comment or drama. It was what needed to be done at the time and they were happy to get back to some sense of normalcy in their routines.

Since Bond hadn't needed Q in his capacity as quartermaster or on logistics, Q was free to concentrate on his work. He retained the flat that he and Bond had occupied in MI6 because there was still a real danger to Q until Harbinger was destroyed completely and the word was sent out through spy networks that it was no more. Until word spread sufficiently, Q remained in safekeeping. Three different agents were assigned to watch over him, but they weren't expected to watch over him as closely as Bond had done. Q woke every morning to no one and went to sleep wondering if Bond were alright.

Most nights he would lay there before sleep took him, staring at the ceiling and wondering if Bond were thinking of him too. He would hate himself a little for that. It was foolish and infantile to think about someone with whom he had, for all intents and purposes, a fling. That's all it was: a silly dalliance, a one night stand, a brief encounter. Q would have every reason to believe that it wouldn't continue should they be together again if it weren't for one thing: Bond had kissed him.

Q closed his eyes and remembered Bond's soft mouth on his; the tenderness in his eyes when he saw Q's face and feet. He recalled how Bond was afraid to touch him at first and how when he did, it was tender and almost laughably cautious. It reminded him of earlier touches and kisses and caresses to wounded flesh and soon Q would find himself hard at the memories of Bond's touch on his skin. Soon Q would take hold of himself and feel Bond's warm hands (they were always so fucking warm) slide over him as he made love to him. Q would imagine it slow one night, hard and violent the next. Sometimes the fantasies would hit during his morning shower, sometimes - and more embarrassingly - they would hit when he was seated at his computer in Q Branch, trapped in his wheelchair. On those occasions, a discreet wank in the handicapped stall toilet would have to do.

But now here they were, together again. And M was standing before them about to tell them the grim news about those terrible children in that awful room and all Q wanted to do was to stand and take Bond by the hand and lead him to the second sub-basement apartment and shag him until they couldn't stand it any longer. But he couldn't. The children were more important than his hormones. Focus, Q.

But James did look so tantalizingly good. So completely ready to be taken in every fucking way. Jesus, man! Get a grip!

Bond looked over at Q, narrowing his eyes, evaluating him. Q smiled weakly back, not wanting to give himself away, but feeling exposed all the same. He needed to feel James' warm hands on him again and Q vowed that no matter what, he would strive to make that happen tonight, wheelchair or no, assignments or no. Q would have Bond's hands on his skin before the damn day was out or he would tear the world apart trying. But for now: back to work.

Forcing his glance away from Bond, Q focused on M and waited.


	51. Chapter 51

Bond sat quietly and waited for M to speak. He was disgusted at the sight of those children in jars, but he felt at a loss as to how to explain their presence at MI6. They had to be significant enough somehow to be kept away in there, but Bond didn't really want to know the details. His presence in M's office now, though, led him to believe that he would be doing more than just hearing a story being told; he could smell the assignment that was about to be thrown in his lap.

He gave Q a glance. He looked better, much better, than when he last saw him: bloodied and bruised and broken. The relief that swept through him when he found Q alive was profound. He knew he had feelings for Q, but he had no idea how deeply he would be affected by them. The past three weeks apart had been torture. Every night was filled with dreams of Q; he would fall asleep thinking of him and wake to thoughts of him and how he was doing in his recovery. Pangs of guilt would rock him as he thought of Q going through his healing without Bond there to care for him. But oh, Q would hate that. The man had way too much pride. Glancing at him now, Bond wondered if Q even gave him a passing thought. If it weren't for the kisses exchanged when Q was found, he would have thought the man carried no feeling for him whatsoever. But it wasn't true. Bond knew it. He could see it now.

Bond vaguely wondered how Q would feel about what he did to Murphy in those first few hours they were left alone. He wasn't proud of himself for his actions. He only knew that Murphy had taken someone he loved and beat the living hell out of him. Bond simply returned the favor. That wooden pole Murphy had used found a new use in Bond's hands. The taser 004 handed him worked a treat as well. When 004 finally came looking for him four hours later, she found him with blood all over his shirt and trousers - none of it Bond's. She had also found the remnants of Murphy, torn and broken, laying naked on the steel table where Q's laptop had been. 

Bond recalled his words to 004 as she stood mutely in the doorway. She never walked in to see the jars and he was glad for that. It would have only made the scene even more macabre. He looked at her when he heard the door creak open. She had said: "M's looking for you," she glanced at the body and back to Bond, "Done having your fun?"

Bond stood there panting with his efforts. He gripped the wooden stick tightly in his hand and inspected the snub tip. "Almost," he said, placing the blunt end of the stick between the arse cheeks of a half-conscious Murphy. He looked at her. "You may not want to watch this." She nodded curtly and left.

Bond straightened in the chair as he shook off the memory. It happened weeks ago, but it still felt like yesterday. Murphy was different because he was beating him for revenge; it wasn't for information, or for confession. He simply tore the man apart because he COULD and the guilt of it was killing him.

He glanced at Q who was looking at him in a funny way. He wondered if Q had seen him clench his jaw at the memory of that fuck he tortured. He narrowed his eyes at Q and Q gave him a small smile in exchange. Bond resolved never to tell Q what happened to Murphy. There were some things he never wanted him to know - some things he never had to know. But then... The guilt swept over him again like a wave.

Bond regarded M and waited for him to say something, anything, because right now all Bond wanted to do was to go somewhere quiet with Q and hold him. He wanted to put his lips everywhere on Q's body that they could reach. He wanted - needed - to drown himself in Q, because he needed to heal himself from all the crap he'd done to Murphy in Q's name. Perhaps he would tell Q what he did. Perhaps he would by way of confession, with Q granting him absolution. His soul needed to be healed just as Q's body needed to heal. He needed for Q to forgive him. And that could only be done in private. But later. Now he had to focus on the job at hand. But later on, when all had gone home, he would return to Q's arms and beg his forgiveness.

He only hoped that Q could forgive him for what he had done.


	52. Chapter 52

"I'm afraid the children must stay," M began. He looked between the two men who were now exchanging glances. Before Q could ask why, M held up a hand and nodded. "Because they're part of an unfinished assignment."

"A what?" asked Bond.

"Consider it like a cold case," said M. He sat behind his desk and looked grim. He fingered an assignment folder on his desk and didn't look up when he next spoke. "It's an assignment that's been left over from the seventies. Long before my time. At first, I didn't know where to begin. But as I began asking around, I found the only person who could lead me to the files was one of the agents who was here then. Back then he was one of the higher-ups; now he's an old man, retired to Brighton. He didn't want to tell me at first. Said it wasn't a going concern for the country any more. Too much time had passed, he supposed. I got back and Tanner was kind enough to inform me that his end of the research had brought up a few more recent developments. Berlin, Moscow, and London have all had unsolved cases where children were preserved in jars. Buried alive, drowned in formaldehyde. As best as our doctors can figure, that's just what happened to those children in our sub-basement."

M took the assignment folder and cast it toward them. Bond reached over and opened it. There were the standard photographs of various people taken long ago. There were also more recent photos of the same people. Some of the pictures were labelled with the word "deceased", but not all. Three photos of old men taken in various candid ways (one of them clearly taken by a CCTV camera) were all the file truly contained. M sighed and they regarded him. "One of these three men is responsible for all the children," he said.

Q interjected, "Isn't this more of a job for Interpol?

"It would be, yes," agreed Bond.

"Under normal circumstances, it would," said M. "But this is not normal. You see before you, gentlemen, former agents of MI6."

The silence in the room was profound. Bond broke the silence with an unfinished question: "And the children in the sub-basement were from...?"

"They were from the time when these agents were active agents," said M.

"We had a serial killer in our midst," said Q softly.

"Exactly," said M. "Which is why, 007, I'm sending you out to eliminate each and every one of them." He tapped his fingers on the assignment folder and photographs. "This mess gets cleaned up for good."


	53. Chapter 53

"I don't have to leave for Germany until tomorrow," said Bond as he headed down to the sub-basement flat in the lift with Q.

"Is that right?" said Q, feigning disinterest and staring straight ahead. He could feel Bond's eyes on him as he sat in his wheelchair.

"It is," said Bond.

"You think I wasn't aware?" asked Q. "After all, I'm the one who arranged for your equipment and your flight."

"That's right," said Bond. He cocked a grin at Q that the man couldn't see. "Been meaning to thank you for booking me such a late flight tomorrow. Gives a bloke a chance for a lie-in."

Q blushed faintly at the comment and did his best to suppress a smile. He still stared ahead without a glance to Bond. "You're very welcome, 007. It was the least I could do. You do work so very hard for us here at MI6."

"I couldn't think of a better reward," said Bond.

"Couldn't you?" said Q.

The lift doors opened and Q pushed himself down the corridor.

"Do you want me to...?" asked Bond offering to push Q along.

"No, 007," said Q. "I can manage, thank you."

They got all the way to the entrance of the flat and Q unlocked the door and pushed in. They had fitted a ramp to the three steps on the other side of the door so that Q could enter and exit at will. The shower was already a walk-in affair, so there was naught to do there except provide a wet chair for Q to sit upon as he bathed. Otherwise, nothing had changed in the three weeks Bond was away. It practically felt like coming home. There was just one thing missing.

Bond stopped Q's forward motion by stepping in front of Q's chair and grabbing his armrests. He insinuated his legs between Q's and leaned forward slowly. "I've missed you so very much, Geoffrey," he said and placed a slow, smoldering kiss on his lips.

As the kiss broke, Q murmured: "Welcome home, James."


	54. Chapter 54

Undressing each other was half the fun. Each man took his time with the other's clothing, savoring each inch of exposed skin as it presented itself with a well-placed kiss or gentle caress. Bond attempted to lift Q to the bed when they were both down to their smalls, but Q surprised him, taking a few ginger steps and throwing himself on the soft surface with a slight wince. Bond shook his head. He was pretty sure Q wasn't supposed to be putting any weight on his feet, but Q's pride knew no bounds.

As Q settled in under the duvet, Bond positioned himself at Q's feet. Taking one of Q's feet in his hands, he considered it carefully, turning it slightly and placing a kiss on his arch. He heard Q let out a low grunt of pleasure and he continued trailing gentle kisses to the underside, arch, and ankle of each foot, testing to see where Q was most sensitive. Bond loved watching Q come undone with his attentions. Slowly, he worked his way up Q's legs to his hard cock. He licked and sucked at the tip, inciting moans and words from Q that were music to Bond's ears. 

It was all Q could do to savor the moment. He wanted Bond so badly he could taste it and this slow tease to his groin had him half mad with desire. As Bond sucked on his cock, teasing the frenulum and licking across his slit, he took Bond by his ears and slowly thrust up into his hot mouth. Bond sucked harder and moaned his approval, causing Q to shiver and cry out: "Jesus fuck, James! Oh God in heaven!"

Bond pulled off his cock with a wet pop and said, "I'm so fucking hard right now, Geoffrey. Please let me cum inside you."

"I w-was just going to say," said Q, "that if you didn't stop soon, I was going to end up throat fucking you. Jesus, James... I missed you so fucking much." Bond sucked at one of Q's nipples as he moved up and leaned over him. Q gasped and carded his hands through Bond's hair. "You can cum inside me. You can do what you like with me, James. I'm yours."

Bond pulled away for a moment to take up the lube and a condom from the bedside table while Q arranged the duvet over them both. It was cold in the room without the fire built. Bond leaned his weight on Q, warming his skin, and pressed long kisses to his mouth. It was such a relief to have him home, Q thought. He wrapped his legs around his lover and ran his hands down Bond's back. Bond squirmed. "God! Your hands are freezing!"

Q laughed. "Then you'd better do something to warm them." Without a word, Bond reached back for one of Q's hands and brought it to his mouth, sucking in the first two fingers of his hand and watching a shocked impassioned expression bloom on Q's face.

He slicked up Q's fingers, flicking his tongue tantalizingly around and between his digits. Bond lifted himself up and away from Q, reached behind Q's knees and pulled them up and to either side of the quartermaster's chest all the while still sucking on Q's fingers. He pulled off, sucking hard and said, "Prepare yourself, Geoffrey. I want to watch you." He nodded toward the bottle of lube he had placed on the mattress beside them.

Q slicked up his fingers and reached downward, keeping his eyes on Bond. The agent held his knees in place and watched with fascination as one of Q's fingers disappeared inside him, only glancing up when he heard Q's breath stutter. Q's eyes were glazed over and wanton. He hissed as he inserted a second finger and Bond rewarded him with kisses along his thighs and chest. He licked along Q's shaft and Q's hips bucked toward the wet heat simultaneously causing him to hit along his prostate. Q cried out: "Fuck! Shit!" He looked at Bond desperately. "Please, James! Dear God get inside me. Please!"


	55. Chapter 55

Q pulled his fingers out when Bond pulled gently at his hand. Bond slipped on the condom and slicked himself up. He placed himself at Q's entrance and slowly pushed in. For the first time in a long time, James and Geoffrey felt truly home. Their bodies welcomed one another as hands glided over each curve and dip, mouths explored with greedy tongues, and sweat-slicked skin met and slid apart, only to meet again as Bond thrust himself deeper and deeper into his beloved quartermaster.

The sensation of fullness was bliss to Q. He had often thought about James while they were apart, but the fantasy of their union didn't hold a candle to the reality of it. Q reveled in the taste and feel of the power that was over him and in him, sucking in a breath as Bond's thrusts brushed his prostate, causing a stream of epithets to pour fourth from his lips.

Bond was trying to keep his pace slow, but as the moments ticked by and Q's strangled cries, keening, and low moans continued with each pump of his hips, Bond was soon at his tipping point. After a particularly vehement "Fuck, JAMES!" followed a sucking kiss at his collarbone, James couldn't stand it any more. He had to cum. He pulled his torso away from Q, balancing on his knees, held Q's legs up and away and plunged as deeply as he could seeking his release. He could feel the heat build in his groin. The overwhelming urge to fuck Q through the mattress pulsed through him like pounding waves and selfishly he let the wave take him as he lost himself to his instinct.

Q took hold of his own cock and began pumping his fist over his throbbing erection. He rode out Bond's fuck watching him through slitted eyes and gaping at him with an open mouth. Jesus wept, but he was beautiful. Q watched fascinated as a drop of sweat traveled down Bond's corded neck to his collarbone and caressed down his chest. Q couldn't resist: he took up the bead of sweat with a finger and brought it to his mouth watching as Bond watched him.

As soon as Q placed that finger in his mouth, Bond was undone. He gasped, his hips shivering as he spent himself inside Q. The sight of Bond cumming was beyond gorgeous and Q found his rhythm a bit shaken as he began to climax. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, anticipating the moment of his release. He didn't have to wait long. He came hard and fast over his fist, his abdomen, and Bond's stomach, for the agent had leaned in closer to watch Geoffrey as he got himself off.

Q watched lazily, his breath coming in pants, as James scooped a bit of cum from his chest onto one finger and placed it in his mouth, humming with pleasure. He grinned at Q. Q grinned back.

James slowly eased himself onto Q's chest and gently licked and kissed the side of his neck. Q wrapped his legs around Bond, hoping that they could stay that connected forever, but he knew it couldn't last. Eventually, Bond pulled out, disposed of the condom, and went to the bathroom for a flannel.

They made short work of cleanup. They were exhausted and wanted each other's warmth for the rest of the night. Soon enough, Bond would be on a flight and Q would be running logistics for him. They would be working in tandem, but miles apart and it galled Q to realize that as soon as they had this time together, they would be ripped apart again. Still... it could be worse. Q could have died. Bond could have died.

Q held Bond to him and let his warmth seep into his bones. Until fate had her way, Bond was going to stay right where he was: safe in Q's arms.


End file.
